


The Sum of His Parts

by klairevoyance



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! - All Media Types, Yu-Gi-Oh! 5D's, Yu-Gi-Oh! GX, Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: A Lotta Plot, A little angst, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Coming Out, M/M, a little smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2019-10-19 01:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 27,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17592407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klairevoyance/pseuds/klairevoyance
Summary: “It really wasn’t your fault,” Yuya confirmed softly from the front seat of Yusaku's car. “But it may be time to retire the phrase ‘break your face’.”





	1. PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

\- TSUKOMO YUMA -

PRESENT DAY

 

Tsukomo Yuma had always been one to break from routine, which, for a few reasons, didn’t always fly in the world of the performing arts.

For one, the theatre often attracted a superstitious bunch. Certain rules passed from mentor to mentee became commonplace within the wings of the stage— things like “no whistling” or “the rule of three”. _Good_ luck actually meant _bad_ luck, and the mere mention of the Scottish play was enough to get you banned from backstage. Yuma followed these rules as best as he could— perhaps not to the ‘T’, but maybe to the ‘U’ or the ‘V’.

The night of The Accident started off as routine as any dress rehearsal night at South Den University could be. Props were set, lines were memorized, and legs were (metaphorically) broken. The cast and crew had performed their pre-show rituals and were churning through scenes for an empty auditorium— well, empty save for seats L20 and L21 (the very center of the house, or so the director insisted.)

The spots hit every dramatic queue. The scrim flooded with light at the exact correct moment. Yuma delivered his parting line before intermission so perfectly that even Atem himself couldn’t hold back a smile.

That is, until  _it_ happened.

 

* * *

 

Tsukomo Yuma had always been one to break from routine, but on the night of The Accident, sitting smooshed in the back of Yusaku’s car as he wildly chased an ambulance to the hospital, he really, _really_ wished he hadn’t.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he heard Judai’s voice say from somewhere next to him, but it was a bit pained and nasal, as if he was trying not to cry.

“It really wasn’t,” Yuya confirmed softly from the front seat. “But it _may_ be time to retire the phrase _‘break your face’_.”


	2. ACT 1: SCENE 1

ACT 1: SCENE 1

\- YUKI JUDAI -

TWO YEARS PRIOR

 

Yuki Judai considered himself a man of many talents, and although there were a few things he was decidedly Not Good At, they didn’t tend to hold him back.

For example, Judai was good at _people._ Making friends, being social— the weirder the circumstances, the better. He was friendly with his elderly, bland as a salt-free diet History 102 professor, and buddy-buddy with the night janitor that hummed as he swept the auditorium lobby after rehearsals. He never walked into a new classroom on the first day of a semester with a knot in his gut, nervously wondering who he would find a seat next to. No, Judai instead wore an inviting smile, one that made other people almost _hope_ if anyone decided to sit next to them, it would be him.

Judai was also a great actor, and not half bad at singing and dancing, to boot. He hadn’t come to South Den University with any kind of pedigree, but his natural talent and likable personality had earned him spots in several productions. He was fun to watch while on stage, and his participation usually drew quite the crowd, seeing as most of the student body knew him. His friends from all walks of life would congregate to _ooh_ and _aah_ at his antics, much to his pleasure (and that of the theatre’s pocketbook).

These two things- his overt friendliness and his knack for the performing arts— contributing to his cracking of the toughest nut to ever haunt the SDU auditorium: the feared Fudo Yusei.

 

* * *

 

Fudo Yusei was also known for being good at several things— in fact, some may argue that he was the best at what he did. He excelled at anything that had to do with using his own hands, whether that be building elaborate set pieces for upcoming productions or re-wiring a faulty spotlight. He operated curtains and scrims with ease, slinking through the backstage shadows like a black cat in an alleyway, and always seemed to have whatever small amenity that one could possible need tucked away in his tool belt. Need a pre-stage kiss mint? Yusei was your man.

His hard work and long hours had earned him the reverence of most of the theatre community at SDU. Some of its younger participants tended to avoid him, having been passed down a rather unnerving cautionary tale about what befell a freshman who crossed him (it was only partially true— that prop tree had _always_ been imbalanced, it wasn’t Yusei’s fault the freshman had insisted his quick-change occur directly on the stage).

He never performed, being a self-proclaimed “shit-tier actor”, but he did on occasion mumble songs to himself as he hammered away at Atem’s latest prop brain child, and he could definitely hold a tune.

 

* * *

 

Judai met Yusei during his first ever show at SDU. It was a corny, light-hearted number called _Another, Please_ , telling the tale of a bartender struggling to make ends meet until being given the ability to guess what drinks his patrons would enjoy most by a passing witch. Despite being a wet-behind-the-ears freshman, Judai had managed to bring a smile to Atem’s sultry face during his audition, and snagged the role of the main character’s best friend. The role had been a fun one— a friendly, lovable drunk who was smarter than he let on. Judai liked to think that he, too, was sharper than he initially seemed.

Yugi, then merely an associate director, reserved the first day of rehearsal for a script read-through. It was a chance for the cast to dip their feet into the material and become acquainted with their new stage alter egos—  not to mention a good opportunity to learn the names of the cast and crew.

Upon entering the theatre in the afternoon, Judai was surprised to see Yugi’s spot at the head of the cluster of chairs occupied by a stranger. He looked tall—  much taller than Yugi, slightly taller than Judai, and was dressed head to toe in black, with a worn leather work belt fastened around his waist. He had the look of a man held hostage, fidgeting uncomfortably with his dark hair and shuffling the papers he held.

Judai took a seat and watched as the other cast members filed in. It was a small production, boasting a combined cast and crew of only fifteen, so it didn’t take long for everyone to arrive. Judai grinned and tapped the vacant seat next to him when he saw his roommate, Manjoume Jun, one of only two other freshman to be offered a part.

Despite his rolling eyes, Manjoume took the seat without a fuss. He leaned close to mutter in Judai’s ear.

“Who’s the dude in the director’s chair,” In true Manjoume fashion, it was less of a question and more of a statement.

Judai shrugged, just as the man in question stood and cleared his throat, quieting the chatter among the cast.

“Uh, hi,” his voice was low and pleasant, but uneasy. “I’m Fudo Yusei, for those of you who don’t know me. Yugi’s unexpectedly out sick today, but he really wanted his read-through to happen, and since Yusaku is still away with the e-sports team… you get me instead.”

“Third-string, huh,” smirked a blonde guy in the first row, earning him several scowls from the crew members hovering around the wings of the stage. Judai faintly recognized his haughty tone, and wondered where they’d met before.

Yusei’s eyes narrowed slightly. He gestured to the papers he held.

“I’ve got all your scripts right here. They’re yours to keep, so feel free to mark ‘em up. Come grab yours when I call your name and then we’ll get started. Atlas, Jack.”

The same blonde guy snatched the sheaf out from Yusei’s hand, flicking through it greedily. Judai suddenly remembered where he had seen him before—  scratching his initials into the posted cast list to accept the lead role.

“Tenjoin Asuka.”

Judai pretended not to notice how Manjoume squirmed by his side at the mention of Asuka’s name. That was one situation he was _not_ eager to get in the middle of.

While Yusei continued calling names, Judai pondered how best to approach Jack Atlas. Some would call it method acting— Judai just thought it was the right thing to do.

“Yuki Judai.”

Being the last on the list, Judai collected the final script from Yusei, offering him a quick _‘Nice to meet you’_ as he did. Yusei returned the notion with a curt nod, but Judai didn’t miss the way his lips twitched.

 

* * *

 

Judai stayed after the rehearsal that day to put his plan to befriend Jack Atlas into motion. Manjoume hung back as well, again full of irritated huffs and eye rolls, but unwilling to walk back to the freshman dormitories alone.

Jack was… in all honesty, pretty pretentious. However, Judai found him to be surprisingly friendly once they got to talking. Jack even offered to exchange numbers with the intent of grabbing lunch at some point during the week to discuss their chemistry in the production. Judai chose _not_ to ask about the apparent tension between him and their substitute director as they walked out of the theatre.

Just as Manjoume was beginning to lament about the homework he had yet to do, Judai noticed a glint of metal in the handle of the heavy auditorium door.

 _The key,_ he mouthed. “Hey, Jack! Who gets the key to the theatre?”

Jack peered behind his shoulder, already several strides ahead.

“Yusa- ah,” he paused. “Guess it goes to Yusei tonight. Figures he’d forget it. You can probably still catch him in the parking lot if you hurry.”

Judai loved a challenge. He bade Jack and a fuming Manjoume goodbye and dashed out of the door and down the stairs, key in hand.

The parking lot was mostly barren, being late in the evening on a week day. Judai inspected every car, trying to match one to Yusei. He didn’t have to look for long, however, before the roar of an engine drew his attention to the far corner of the lot, where a man in all black was revving a shiny red bike to life.

“Yusei!” The name felt unfamiliar in Judai’s mouth as he waved the key in the air. “Yusei, wait!”

Yusei puttered the bike over to the sidewalk and cut the engine. Judai could barely see his eyes through the dark visor on his helmet.

“Thanks,” his voice was a little muffled. “Do you live in the dorms? Need a ride back?”

As Judai weighed the pros and cons of further abandoning Manjoume, he heard the very same shout his name from the doors of the auditorium.

“Some other time, then,” Yusei said. He kicked the bike back to life and sped off with a satisfying _skkrit_.

“You wanna get kicked out of this thing?” Manjoume chided as Judai made his way back up the stairs. “Not sure if you noticed, but he and Jack obviously have history. Making googly-eyes at _him_ will only make things worse.”

“I just wanted to ride the bike,” Judai pouted, and it was almost true. “And don’t talk to me about googly-eyes. I saw you watching Asuka during rehearsal.”

Manjoume blanched. “What do you mean? Did she say something to you? Should I text her right now? _Fuck,_ I knew I should have worn my better coat.”

 

* * *

 

“Swear you won’t get weird if I tell you,” Jack said to Judai ominously, clanking his glass back down onto the bar top. It had been several days since they first exchanged numbers, and Jack had quickly edited their lunch plans into after-rehearsal drink plans, citing the theme of the production. His cheeks were flushed with alcohol, having downed several beers already.

“I swear,” Judai reassured him, sipping slowly on his drink. The bartender hadn't carded him—probably because of Jack— whom he had exchanged raucous pleasantries with.

“Alright,” Jack motioned for another round before taking a deep breath. “Yusei is my ex. We were together for a while when we were younger.”

He said the words slowly, dramatically, as if the news came as some great revelation. Judai couldn’t honestly say he was surprised, however, after watching the two interact during the first week of rehearsals. Although Yugi had returned quickly after his initial absence, Jack and Yusei still managed to find each other in order to butt heads.

There had even been one time when Yusaku, the no-nonsense stage manager, snapped angrily at the two of them for bickering backstage.

 _“Give me one more reason to kick you out and I will,”_ he had growled while Jack stormed away and Yusei mumbled an apology.

“So what happened?” Judai prompted. “Did he break up with you?”

“No! _Fuck_ no,” Jack scowled. “ _I_ broke up with _him_ … uh, which was a mistake.”

The bartender refilled his glass with amber liquid, and he took a long draft from it before continuing.

“I thought we'd work through it—  I mean _really,_ it was over a minor thing. That dumbass wasn’t having it, though. So now things are awkward. Doesn’t help that we still have to spend so much time together.”

Judai burned with curiosity over what the so-called 'minor' thing was, but he didn’t want to push Jack too far.

“Have you ever considered patching things up? Just as friends, I mean,” Judai suggested.

Jack let out a short, harsh laugh that sounded a bit like a bark.

“Isn’t it obvious? He wants nothing to do with me. Besides, I don’t think I could be _just_ friends.”

“Why not?”

Jack’s eyes twinkled darkly. “Judai, are you gay?”

“No,” Judai answered a little too quickly, taken aback by Jack’s forwardness. He had always sort of been attracted to people on a case by case basis... but he wasn't gay. Definitely not gay. Not Yuki Judai.

“O-kay, whatever,” Jack flapped a hand at him. “Gay or not, I’m sure you can admit that Yusei is insanely hot.”

Judai felt himself blush. Sure, he could admit that. Yusei was easily the most attractive guy involved in the theatre, with his dark features and chiseled physique. He could usually be spotted in the backstage workshop late into the night, working away at things in a sleeveless shirt, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. Judai sometimes found himself staring at the cords of muscle in his arms, or watching enraptured as he tied bowlines into curtain roping with _—_

Ah, _why_ was he thinking about these things?

Jack, noticing Judai’s expression as he mulled things over, grinned broadly.

“Yeah. So that’s why. Anyways, I’m done talking about it. Let’s talk about this play. How do you feel about getting a real beer thrown in your face?”

 

* * *

 

There were a few things that Yuki Judai was very good at. He was good at _people_ _—_ making friends, being social. He genuinely liked spending time with his peers, and the feeling was mutual. He had a sort of aura to him— one that put others at ease, and made them feel like it was okay to be _themselves._

It was unfortunate, however, that this effect did not extend to himself. All the friends, acquaintances, the smiling faces... no amount could change the way he felt about himself.

This realization came to him that same night, lying alone in his dormitory with the waves of a shameful sea threatening to engulf him.

 _“Judai, are you gay?”_ Jack’s words echoed in his head.

 _No,_ Judai’s inner monologue insisted. _There’s a difference between finding someone attractive and being attracted_ to _them._

 _“So, which one applies to Yusei?”_ Jack’s antagonistic voice created its own dialogue in Judai’s head. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if the force could also squeeze Jack out of his ears.

 _“Faggot!”_ Another intruder shouted from a pocket of repressed memories. He recognized the voice as belonging to one of his high school classmates. The slur hadn’t been directed at him, but instead at his friend Johan.

 _“Just leave it,”_ Johan had always been a little more level-headed than Judai, who settled for an angry look in the classmate’s direction, even though his tongue was itching to retaliate.

Johan— and Judai, by association— got that a lot. Teenagers were vicious animals, wolves with snapping jaws and glinting eyes, quick to pick out those that diverged from the pack. Their tenacity was similar to that of someone with something to prove, Judai thought, as if by making it known that Johan wasn’t welcome in their social circles, they were preventing themselves from falling victim to his fate.

Johan didn’t care. He would poke fun at the fragility of masculinity, and it would bring the easy grin back to his freckled face.

Thinking about Johan and their high school tribulations made Judai missed him sorely. He resolved to invite him up for a weekend, if Manjoume approved. Maybe talking to him would help Judai sort the unfamiliar emotions buzzing in his head.

But that was a job for another time.

Using whatever energy he still had to offer, Judai swatted his high school memories away, back into the hazy recess of his brain where they were usually confined. He turned out the lights and pulled a blanket over his head— a swell in a dark ocean crashing into itself.


	3. ACT 1: SCENE 2

ACT 1: SCENE 2

\- SAKAKI YUYA - 

PRESENT DAY

 

Sakaki Yuya was a star, and he, along with everyone around him, knew it.

During his prospective student visit to South Den University, he’d basically had the theatre department eating out of the palm of his hand. He was shown the flashiest pieces of technology the stage had, the shiny new lighting bar and the refurbished, fully functional trap door. He was walked past a showcase filled to the brim with glinting trophies and accolades, and lectured about the university’s rich theatrical history.

He was even introduced to the Director of Theatre and Visual Arts, which all but confirmed Yuya’s hunch that SDU really, _really_ wanted him.

But then again, who wouldn’t?

 

* * *

 

Yuya held as still as possible as Atem scrutinized him from behind his ornately stained desk. He was the picture of sophistication, his pressed white shirt contrasting perfectly with his tanned skin, a pair of flashy (but not too flashy) gold earrings glittering from his ears. The associate director, Yugi, stood beside him, wearing an encouraging smile.

 _“Atem can be a little intimidating,”_ he had briefed Yuya before pushing open the office door. _“But he really is kind.”_

“I’ve watched some of your performances,” Atem’s voice matched his appearance, smooth and low and dripping with confidence. “You are very good at what you do, Yuya.”

“Thank you,” Yuya managed to prevent his voice from shaking, which was no small feat. “That’s high praise coming from someone like you.”

“I think we could make very good use of your talents here. I only have a few years left as Director, and I have several very special projects planned for that time.”

Atem grinned brilliantly, and any remaining shred of doubt within Yuya’s mind was vaporized. Determination made his heart pound in his chest; he _would_ earn that smile again.

“I hope you choose to stay with us.”

And so Yuya did.

 

* * *

 

Yuya’s sophomore year was the last year of Atem’s post-doctorate residency at SDU. Although the idea of him leaving the department was sad (Yugi’s eyes brimmed with tears any time it was spoken of), they all knew he was meant to do bigger things. Broadway and the like had already been knocking at his office door, inquiring when his talents would be available for purchase.

The department announced in the cold days of January that the spring production would be an original, written by Atem himself. This news brought about a surge of interest for the theatre within SDU. Long-time cast members buzzed with excitement, daydreaming about long ticketing lines and thunderous applause.

Yuya picked up his partial script the day they became available. Yugi was handing them out in the lobby of the theatre, beaming with his whole face at every auditionee.

“I can’t wait for you to audition,” he gently placed a copy in Yuya’s hand, as if it were an ancient tome. 

 _The_ _Sum of His Parts_ was a modern, complex tragedy. The main characters were a pair of disgraced spirits, one dark and one light, banished from their realm for their sins. Their only hope was rehabilitating a human with a broken soul, in hopes that the good deed would redeem them.

Yuya read through the provided pages with hungry eyes, soaking in the mood, the motives, the conflict between the characters. He read until the light shining through his apartment window dwindled to nothing, read until he could recite every line frontwards and backwards.

He was roused when he heard the front door slam— Yuzu’s preferred way of announcing her arrival home.

“Yuya?” She peeked through his bedroom door. “Did you eat? I brought take out.”

 

* * *

 

Yuya explained the audition to his roommate and childhood friend between ravenous bites of noodles. Yuzu listened with rapt attention, as she usually did, interrupting only once to chide Yuya for spilling sauce on his shirt.

“I think you’d be best as the light spirit,” she commented after Yuya fell silent. “Sounds like there’s gonna be a lot of character development there.”

“I’m good at character development,” Yuya agreed, an excited flush in his cheeks.

The two chatted for a while longer, sharing details about their days. Yuya diligently pretended not to be distracted by the thought of the script lying on his bed, although he did stand up a little too fast when Yuzu said she was retiring for the night.

Alone with the audition packet again, Yuya searched for his desired part’s lines and highlighted them. The light spirit came off as positive and slightly comedic, but had an underlying tone of seriousness as well. He gave the sentences life in his mind, trying out all sorts of tones and inflections until settling on one that just felt _right._

 _This part was made for me,_ Yuya thought, with a rush of confidence. _I’ve got this in the bag._

 

* * *

 

Yuya did not, in fact, have this in the bag.

He arrived a few minutes early for his 14:30 audition to find the auditorium lobby already filled with faces, some familiar and some not. He spotted Judai almost instantly, bickering with his roommate Manjoume Jun over what looked to be a very tattered copy of the audition script. Senior Zaizen Aoi pored over her own copy in a far corner, and a ragtag group of freshmen chased each other around, ducking around their older, miffed-looking counterparts.

Yusaku leaned in front of the auditorium doors— a very bored guard dog. He balanced a laptop in one hand and typed lazily on it with the other, only acknowledging the crowd when he called out a name and audition time.

 _Bzzt._ Yuya’s phone buzzed in his pocket, reminding him to silence it before his turn on the stage.

> **Hiiragi Yuzu (14:25)**
> 
> break a leg, yuya!
> 
> **Hiiragi Yuzu (14:26)**
> 
> that means good luck in theatre speak

Yuzu’s encouragement made Yuya smile. He wasn’t able to respond, however, because just as he opened a new message, his name was called. He tried very hard to walk, not run, to the auditorium doors.

“Just hang tight,” Yusaku barred Yuya from barreling immediately into the theatre. “You’ve got a few more minutes.”

“Sorry,” Yuya said, embarrassed. The last thing he needed was a bad repertoire with the long-time stage manager.

After what felt like a century of waiting, the doors opened, and out waltzed a stranger. He was obviously a freshman, a youthful fullness still present in his face.

“The cast list will be posted here by 18:00 on Friday,” Yusaku recited, not looking up from his laptop. “Yuya, you’re on.”

“Break your face,” said the freshman, winking cheekily. Yuya, too nervous for pleasantries, mumbled something like _‘thanks’_ as Yusaku closed the door behind him.

He walked down the long aisles of the house, past the only three occupied seats, and climbed the stairs onto the stage. The paint-stained wood felt venerable beneath his sneakers.

“Alright, this is number twenty-two, Sakaki Yuya,” read a voice that Yuya quickly identified as Yugi’s. He could barely make out his and Atem’s figures through the glare of the stage lights, and recognized the third as Fudo Yusei, the theatre's resident handyman, and Judai's— well, he'd have to come back around to that one later.

“What part are you auditioning for, Yuya?” Atem’s words were easily discernible from his junior’s.

“I’m auditioning for the light spirit,” Yuya replied, pleased with how even his tone was.

“Will you accept any role?”

“I will _consider_ any role,” _Just a formality,_ Yuya thought to himself.

There was a short pause while Yugi scribbled something into a notebook. Yuya watched Yusei lean over and whisper into Yugi’s ear.

“Very well,” Atem boomed, making Yuya wonder if he had a microphone hidden somewhere in his shirt. “Please start on page 7 and read until we stop you. I will read for the Sundered King.”

Yuya took a deep breath and centered himself. He delivered the lines directly to seats L19-21, weaving life into his words. He commanded the stage, pacing to and fro with wide, confident steps. His arms swept dramatically across the expanse of empty seats, and his face twisted to punctuate every syllable, convey every feeling.

"Besides, who needs more than day and night?  _I_ prefer the absolute—" Yuya mustered as much wretched emotion as he could, "— it's much less likely to hurt me."

Yugi clapped enthusiastically as Yuya took a tiny, humble bow. When he raised his head, he swore Atem smiled, and his heart sang.

 

* * *

 

The cast list for  _The_ _Sum of His Parts_ was posted smack in the middle of Yuya’s Theatrical Design class, and it took every scrap of his willpower not to sneak away in order to check it. He left in a whirlwind of red hair as soon as class released, not even bothering to pull his arms through his coat, despite the blustery weather.

There was already a small crowd around the doors of the auditorium when he arrived. 

“Yuya! Congratulations!” A voice yelled as soon as Yuya entered the lobby, causing confidence to surge within him. He shrugged eagerly through the groups of people, and took one more deep breath before reading the cast list.

 

**THE SUM OF HIS PARTS**

**First rehearsal 17:15 January 16**

 

**ASTRAL, the LIGHT SPIRIT - TSUKOMO YUMA**

**AI, the DARK SPIRIT - YUKI JUDAI**

**THE SUNDERED KING - SAKAKI YUYA**

 

**YUTO - TENJOIN ASUKA**

**YUGO - ZAIZEN AOI**

**YURI - MANJOUME JUN**

 

**SPIRIT HIGH PRIESTESS - ...**

 

The list continued on for about 15 more roles, each progressively smaller. Their names jumbled together in Yuya's vision, however. He squinted at the sheet, as if by doing so he could will the letters spelling out _‘Tsukomo Yuma’_ to reorder themselves into _‘Sakaki Yuya’_.

_What did I do wrong?_

He replayed the entirety of his audition at turbo speed in his head, dissecting each word, every tone and gesture. What had made them think he’d be best suited as _this_ character?

The buzzing crowd around him had not quieted, and yet Yuya could only hear the rushing of blood in his ears. Yugi had sung his praises, and Atem… Atem had _smiled_ at him.

 _Was it all a lie?_   His mind raced. _Had they been letting me down easily?_

“Hey, Yuya,” Judai’s jaunty voice broke him from his downward spiral. “No need to practice your frowns just yet. I’ve got someone who wants to meet you.”

Yuya swiveled on the spot and met eyes with the person standing at Judai’s side. He immediately recognized him as the student who had told him to _‘break his face’_ right before his audition.

“I’m Tsukomo Yuma!” He nearly squealed. “I watched your performance last year in _T_ _he Night of Knights._ You’re the reason why I came to South Den! Well, _that_ , and I like that our mascot is a dragon. I wanted to introduce myself the other day, but you looked _really_ focused, and I didn’t want to...”

Yuya was very aware of how his mouth was hanging open, but he had suddenly forgotten how to close it. Judai cocked an eyebrow at him as Yuma continued to chatter animatedly, unaware that nobody was listening.

“Um, yeah, Yuma. That’s great,” after a few more moments of painful awkwardness, Judai patted Yuma on the back. “Hey, you wanna go talk to Yusaku? He’s, um, _sometimes_ nice.”

Judai carted Yuma away, tossing a parting, confused glace at Yuya. The other cast and crew members began to disperse as well, eager to enjoy their last few nights of freedom before rehearsals started.

When the last stragglers had wandered away, Yuya sunk down onto the ground and leaned against the doors of the auditorium. He remembered Atem’s smile, the one that had reassured him, and wondered again if it was just a kind dismissal.

> **Sakaki Yuya (16:31)**
> 
> i didn’t get the part
> 
> **Hiiragi Yuzu (16:32)**
> 
> yuya :(
> 
> **Hiiragi Yuzu (16:32)**
> 
> i’m really sorry
> 
> **Hiiragi Yuzu (16:35)**
> 
> is there anything i can do?
> 
> **Sakaki Yuya (16:39)**
> 
> help me change my name to tsukomo yuma

 

* * *

 

The door to Yugi’s office squealed sharply when Yuya pushed it open the following afternoon.

Despite its success in recent years under Atem's watchful eye, the theatre department still lacked funding to move it’s faculty into one of the newer buildings on campus. Instead, they were relegated to quite possibly the _oldest_ building. It did not wear its age well— what with it’s peeling paint and musty, grandma’s basement-esque odor.

 _“I’m just thankful to have an office at all,”_ Yugi, always the optimist, had said when Yuya first commented on it, back during his initial campus visit. His warm, casual welcome had actually been a much-needed breath of fresh air for Yuya, who had spent weeks touring several prestigious art universities.

This time, however, the inviting aura was nowhere to be found. Tension took its place, buzzing in the air like static electricity.

“Yuya, hi,” Yugi greeted him. He shuffled away the papers he had appeared to be grading, knocking his _‘Assistant Director’_ plaque askew as he did. There was a tiny stress crease between his eyes, as if he had been scowling for just a bit too long. It reminded Yuya of Yusaku, and looked rather out of place on Yugi.

Yuya nodded back and sat in the rickety chair opposite Yugi’s desk, only because it seemed like the natural thing to do. The chair groaned under his weight— something he would have made a light-hearted joke about given different circumstances.

Yugi cleared his throat once, and then twice. He laced and unlaced his fingers, and readjusted his misplaced plaque. The crease between his eyes deepened as the seconds silently ticked by.

Yuya refused to speak, refused to give Yugi an out. After all, it was _he_ that had requested they talk, undoubtedly sparked by Yuya’s missing initials on the cast list.

“So,” Yugi finally managed. “How… how have you been?”

A sudden wave of exasperation came over Yuya.

“Yugi, with all due respect, can we just skip the chit-chat? I know why I’m here,” annoyance edged its way into his tone, although he resisted rolling his eyes.

Yugi frowned. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. This is about Yuma, isn’t it? And how I didn’t accept my part.”

The apologetic smile that found its way onto Yugi’s face all but confirmed Yuya’s suspicions.

“You’re right,” he admitted. “But hear me out.”

Hearing Yugi out didn’t particularly appeal to Yuya. The sting of embarrassment (betrayal, even) was still hot on his skin, like a fresh burn.

Then again, not participating in the upcoming production didn’t exactly appeal to him, either. He wanted desperately to appear in Atem’s _chef-d’œuvre._ He _needed_ to prove what he was capable of bringing to SDU Theatre, the up-and-coming name in collegiate performing arts.

This, and this alone, kept him planted in the creaky chair, even though he wanted to storm out of the office with a dramatic flourish.

“I know you’re— um,  _we_ upset _you_ … with our casting decisions,” Yugi started, his words chosen carefully. “I personally take full blame for not communicating our expectations with you, and I apologize. Sincerely.”

Yuya huffed. “I just don’t understand. You and Atem… I thought I was the obvious choice for the lead.”

“That’s the thing,” Yugi interjected. “I still believe you are. You’re not giving your role enough credit… the entire production centers around you. I know it doesn’t seem like—”

“It doesn’t!” Yuya was unable to hold back any longer. “It doesn’t at _all!_ ”

Yugi’s eyes widened in shock, in a way that made Yuya immediately regret his outburst.

“Sorry,” he added. “I just… yeah. I thought this was gonna be my chance, you know?”

“I know, Yuya, and I really am sorry,” Yugi’s frown was back. “But a lot of people feel the same way about this show. There are a lot of seniors leaving after this semester— Yusaku, Yusei… you know. This is their last opportunity to add to their resumes before looking for employers.”

A wave of embarrassment washed over Yuya, because he understood. He really did.

He just hated that it had to come at his expense.

“This is the only original work of Atem’s that’ll ever premier at SDU,” Yugi continued with a faraway sigh. " _The_ _Sum of His Parts_ is his postdoctoral thesis. It _has_ to go well.”

The wall clock in the far corner of Yugi’s office went off, startling them both.

“Atem hand-picked the cast for this show, Yuya. It won’t be nearly as good without you,” Yugi’s voice was uncharacteristically low, almost pleading.

The corners of Yuya’s eyes were hot, but he refused to show any more emotion. Yugi sighed before gathering a stack of glossy, spiral-bound booklets. He flipped through the first few and plucked one out, offering it to Yuya.

“Rehearsal starts in twenty minutes. Will you give it a chance?”

 

* * *

 

“Again with the method acting, hmm?” Judai chuckled as he plopped down into the vacant seat next to Yuya. As tradition, a mish-mash of chairs had appeared onstage for the production’s first rehearsal.

“Hey, I know someone who can give you some pointers,” Judai continued when Yuya didn’t offer a response. He turned and shouted towards the back of the house. “Manjoume! Yuya needs some frowning advice!”

Manjoume shouted something obscene back, and several other cast members snickered at their banter. Judai laughed, as well, but sobered quickly when he saw that Yuya’s face remained unchanged.

“Hey, are you okay? Seriously,” his voice lowered to a murmur, a shadow of concern softening his eyes.

“Yeah, sorry, I am,” Yuya said. He hated the way Judai’s frown looked on his face. “I’m just having a rough day.”

“Well, let me know how I can help,” Judai soothed. Despite the situation, Yuya actually found himself feeling slightly ( _very_ slightly) better.

Damn Judai and his calming goat tendencies.

The rest of the cast assembled in the following minutes, filling the stage with droning conversation and tangible excitement. It was quickly quieted, however, when Yugi stepped out of the right wing, arms laden with scripts. Following him was Yusaku, laptop in one hand, prompt book in the other.

“Hi, everyone!” Yugi stacked the scripts by his place at the head of the chairs. “I think we’ll start with introductions, and then I’ll pass out scripts and we’ll read through the whole thing.”

He introduced himself, as well as Yusaku, before having the cast members introduce themselves. Yuya noticed the look of pure relief on Yugi’s face when he took his turn. Judai seemed to notice as well, because he nudged Yuya and not-so-subtly mouthed _‘what's going on?'_.

Yugi wasted no time jumping into the first scene, quelling Judai's suspicious gaze. Yuya flipped through the script eagerly, but was sorely disappointed to find that he had no lines in the opening scene. Not even one.

He scowled at his lap as the others stumbled through their lines for the first time. The atmosphere was light as the cast felt out their characters for the first time, laughing when they mispronounced the occasional word. Yuma, who was sitting in the middle of the front row (because of _course_ he was) sounded surprisingly comfortable in his role, slotting easily into the back-and-forth banter with Judai.

Yuya tuned him out.

He let his mind wander, observing the facial expressions of the company and the same old paint splotches on the ground. At one point, he caught a glimpse of Yusei peering through the curtains, watching enthralled as Judai spoke. He disappeared when he noticed Yuya’s gaze, though, melding back into the shadows.

 

* * *

 

The rehearsal trickled by. Yuya’s lines did start up eventually, and even though he had quite a bit of stage time, he just couldn’t get into the role. Even when he delivered the last line of the show, and the cast clapped happily, his smile felt disingenuous.

As his peers packed up their things and sidled into the cold night, Yuya felt a pair of eyes boring into his back. He turned just in time to see Atem emerge from the wing, his gold earrings glittering in the finely-tuned light of the stage.

“Yuya, a word,” he said. Yuya stuffed his script in his backpack and slung it over his shoulder, painfully aware of how he was being watched. The corners of his eyes pricked for what felt like the thousandth time that day.

“Yugi briefly told me what happened today,” Atem started, and Yuya’s blood crystallized. “I—”

“I’m sorry,” The dam holding back Yuya's liquefied emotions finally broke loose. “I’m over it. It was dumb of me to—”

“Yuya,” Atem’s stern voice stopped his stammering, although the tears still rolled silently down his cheeks. “You are talented and ambitious— two things you have no reason to apologize for.”

“You are the only person in this cast that I trust with the role of the King,” he continued. “I apologize that it's not the role you wanted, but I _promise_ you that, should you stay with the production, you will be glad you did.”

Yuya nodded, his tongue thick in his mouth, his nose full of cotton balls. Atem flashed him a sympathetic smile, almost like the one Yuya sought after so badly.

“Thank you,” Atem said. He clapped a hand on Yuya’s shoulder before disappearing back into the curtains, just as quickly as he had appeared.

Yuya wiped the tears from his face, shame pooling in his gut. Somewhere, Yusei was smacking a hammer rhythmically into a nail, and the sound was only slightly louder than Yuya’s beating heart.


	4. ACT 1: SCENE 3

ACT 1: SCENE 3

\- YUKI JUDAI -

TWO YEARS PRIOR

 

“Here, do it like this,” Jack held his arms out and pressed his thumbs together. With the rest of his hands, he cupped Judai’s face, and placed his thumbs gently on Judai’s lips.

“Then  _voilà,”_ Judai watched with wide eyes as Jack leaned down and planted his lips right on his own thumbs.

“Oh my god,” Judai gasped. “Did it really look like we kissed!”

He turned to the house, where the seats were peppered with standby cast and crew. Several cheered encouragingly, including Johan, who had invited himself to rehearsal and was getting along not-so-swimmingly with Manjoume.

“That was pretty good!” Yugi’s voice boomed over the loudspeakers. “Judai, I want you and Asuka to practice that a few times for Scene 10. Just whatever you’re comfortable with. While they do that, let’s get set for Scene 4.”

 

* * *

 

Kissing Asuka wasn’t exactly  _comfortable_ for Judai, but it wasn't  _uncomfortable,_ either. She was beautiful, and fiercely intelligent, with waist length blonde hair and hawk-like eyes that pierced right through him. He could see why Manjoume was so enraptured with her— as evidenced by the miniature tantrum he threw at the notion of Judai kissing her.

“Thanks for being cool about this,” Asuka breathed once they found a spare classroom. “Honestly, this will be a little awkward for me.”

“Me too,” Judai concurred, before immediately backtracking. “Not kissing _you_ , just kissing a girl. Wait, no— I mean— _kissing_. In general. Yeah.”

He cleared his throat nervously. “I’ve kissed lots of girls.”

Asuka smirked, swinging her legs up onto the desk she was sitting on.

“So have I.”

“Oh.”

“Hence the awkwardness.”

“Does Manjoume know?” The question slipped from between his lips before Judai could stop it. His face burned, but Asuka seemed more amused than offended.

“Nope. Feel free to enlighten him, though,” she laughed in a way that made her eyes crinkle, and Judai forced himself to relax.

They kissed several times using the butterfly-style Jack has demonstrated, Asuka becoming less stiff and robotic with each pass. She stared directly into Judai’s eyes every time their faces met, which was unnerving, but probably not that big of a deal.

It felt wrong, and for more reasons than one.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, can I ask you a question,” Asuka started. They had finished rehearsing and, after about 20 minutes of avoiding the inevitable, were heading back to the theatre. “Is there something between you and Yusei?”

Judai’s heart stuttered. He tugged at the collar of his jacket in an effort to hide the way the color was draining from his face.

“You don’t have to answer,” Asuka added, obviously noticing his reluctance.

“No, it’s fine,” Judai forced himself to smile, but it was pinched at the edges and he knew it. “W-why do you ask?”

Asuka shrugged, her shoulders bobbing as they walked down the stairs together.

“Sorry, I don’t know. I sometimes see you guys by yourselves, and I wasn’t sure if…”

She paused mid-step, avoiding Judai’s face.

“I’m not sure if you know, but Yusei and Jack fell out pretty hard a few years ago— or so I’m told. I’m not close to Yusei, but he does a lot for the theatre and… I want him to be happy.”

When she finally looked up, her eyes were soft, devoid of their usual edge.

Judai knew she had a point, and that it was a point others shared, as well. SDU Theatre as a whole was protective of its props manager, and rightfully so. Yusei put more hours and (literal) sweat into projects than anybody else, and was unerringly loyal. It made sense that they'd want to see him smile more than on rare occasion, especially with Jack skulking around the wings of the stage.

She also wasn’t wrong in saying that Judai had been spending time with Yusei, although it hadn’t really been enough to draw suspicion— or so he _thought_.

There had been that _one_ time, though...

 

* * *

 

The third week of rehearsal flew by, every meeting being more productive than the last. Judai had overcome the initial hurdle of balancing his schoolwork with the production, and was finally settling into a routine. The cast itself was meshing well, any initial awkward nuances healing slowly into easy friendships.

It was Friday night, and Yugi had held a few of them unusually late, determined to fine-tune the scene they were running. By the time he was satisfied, the skeleton crew was tired and grumpy, Judai being no exception. He pulled his coat on with a scowl and stamped out into the night, leaving footprints in the fresh dusting of snow on the ground.

Just as he was tightening the scarf around his neck in preparation for the bitter walk home, someone shouted his name.

“Judai!” It was Yusei, rolling towards him slowly on his bike. The engine purred happily despite the cold, and Judai wondered idly how much time Yusei spent caring for it.

“Need a ride?” He shrugged his helmet off, offering it. “I still owe you for saving my ass that one time.”

Judai accepted, eager to spend as little time in the cold as possible.

He immediately regretted it, however, when he climbed on the back of the bike and was instructed to hold on to Yusei’s waist.

“Y-you sure I can’t just hold the side of the seat!” Judai had to shout over the revving engine, the visor of Yusei’s helmet tinting his vision dark.

“Only if you want me to scrape you off the sidewalk,” Yusei said with a mischievous grin.

Judai bit his lip and snaked his hands around Yusei’s waist, cringing internally when he felt the hardened muscles beneath his shirt. He scooted as far back on the seat as the bike would allow, trying desperately to put distance between Yusei’s body and his.

Yusei piloted the bike with confidence, dipping smoothly between cars. Judai's heart beat with exhilaration, but he couldn't contribute it all to the rush of speed.

About a block away from his dormitory, Yusei skittered to a sudden stop, forcing Judai to close the distance between them and grip him tight. He muttered profanity as a car turned illegally in front of them, right where they would have been had he not stopped.

“Sorry,” he growled. “You still back there? Promise I’m usually a better driver than that.”

 

* * *

 

Yusei parked in the dormitory parking lot, dark save for one lonely street lamp. Judai slid off the back of the bike and offered Yusei his helmet.

“Thanks,” he grinned, the wind biting at his exposed face. “We’re even now.”

“This building is actually on the way home for me,” Yusei said, rolling the helmet between his hands. “Y’know, if you ever stay late again…”

He trailed off, as if there was more he wanted to say. The snow was falling again, the white flakes sharply contrasting with his dark hair.

They stood in silence for a pregnant moment, before Yusei swallowed his words in exchange for a simple _‘goodnight’_ and dissipated into the night.

 

* * *

 

“I want him to be happy, too,” Judai said, and it was both an answer for Asuka as well as a revelation for himself. “I just… I’m not even sure if I _like_ guys. And even if I did…”

 

* * *

 

Week Five of rehearsal threw the production a curve ball in the form of new carpet within the theatre, and although Yugi moaned about _poor atmospherics_ and  _consistency_ , Atem remained firm in his belief that it was unsafe to meet in the auditorium.

Therefore, much to Yugi’s chagrin, rehearsal was temporary relocated to a spare classroom.

Things went smoothly, given the circumstances, until Yugi and Jack got into a heated argument about the height of the constructed bar, and if it would be possible for the latter to jump onto it without risk of grievous bodily harm.

“Judai,” Yugi said, exasperated. “Can you run down to the auditorium and get the dimensions of the bar from Yusei? Be careful.”

Eager to escape the tense classroom, Judai made his way down to the theatre. Something— excitement? nervousness?— brewed in his stomach as he pushed open the doors, only to spike when he heard a familiar voice.

“Judai!” Yusei yelled, standing alone at the edge of the stage. “Perfect timing. Hey, tell me if the scrim flies in evenly.”

Judai picked his way past the patches of destroyed carpet and settled into seat L20, imagining all the times Atem had yelled at him from that very spot.

He watched as the gauzy backdrop swung in from the ceiling. The heavy weights sewn into the bottom of the sheet landed all at once, settling soundlessly onto the stage. It happened so quickly that Judai wondered if he needed to get his eyesight checked.

“Wow,” he exclaimed, unable to help himself. “Yusei, that was _amazing!_ It looks perfect! How did you fly it in so _fast?_ ”

Yusei peeked his head out from the left wing, a trace of a blush coloring his cheeks.

“C’mere, I’ll show you.”

Judai dodged exposed carpet studs and climbed eagerly onto the stage. He tailed Yusei into the curtains and to the fly system, where an assortment of pulleys and other mechanical things were mounted. It was expertly hidden in a sort of lean-to closet, to keep the occasional rowdy freshman from dropping the fire curtain on some unsuspecting actor.

“So I found out that by doubly fastening this knot here with a zip tie, it reduces the drag on the pulley from the other side,” Yusei pointed to pieces of machinery that Judai did not have names for. He nodded along as Yusei continued, pretending not to be too distracted by the way the backstage shadows accentuated his toned shoulders.

“And then if you look _here_ — _”_ Yusei suddenly reached across Judai, unintentionally pressing their bodies closely together in the tight space. Alarm bells went off in Judai’s head, and he stepped back, only to lose his footing.

“Careful,” Yusei grabbed Judai’s wrist, steadying him. “Shift one of those ropes off its track and you may chop a finger off.”

“Sorry,” Judai mumbled, his jacket suddenly feeling two sizes too small.

Yusei flashed him a wink, and  _oh god_ , now his pants were too small as well.

“I’d just hate to see you get hurt, is all.”

 

* * *

 

“I'd hate to see him get hurt, is all,” Judai echoed his own memory with an apologetic smile.

“Well that… complicates things,” Asuka mused. “By the way, I didn’t mean to assume anything about… you know.”

“No, it’s fine,” Judai reassured her. “I— I’m just a little mixed up right now, is all.”

Asuka nodded sympathetically.

“I know the feeling. Just… give it time. Don’t lie to yourself. And be honest with Yusei, too.”

 

* * *

 

Fate had a cruel sense of humor, or at least something against Judai, because he and Asuka were greeted with an empty theatre when they arrived back.

Well, an empty theatre _plus_ one props manager.

“Hey guys,” Yusei said from behind the set of stairs he was building. “Yugi called it about 5 minutes ago.”

“Of _course_ he did,” moaned Asuka as she collected her things. Judai moved to do the same, until he heard Yusei's voice again.

“Judai, mind hanging back for a sec?” He was stepped off the stage and into the house, a dark slick of something staining his face and a heavy hammer swinging from his hip.

Asuka shot him a knowing glance, but to Judai’s great relief, left without another word.

“What’s up?” He asked as casually as he could, cursing the way his heart pounded as Yusei approached.

“I, uh,” Yusei’s blue eyes wandered, from the ground next to Judai, to Judai’s chest, and finally up to his face. His mouth moved as if to speak, but no words came out.

“Yusei?” Judai frowned.

Yusei knitted his brows together, his frustration apparent.

“Fuck it, I’m just gonna say it. Would you want to... hang out sometime? With me?”

Although Judai had sort of known in the pit of his heart what was coming, hearing the words out loud still made his stomach churn with an indefinable feeling.

“If I misread you— um, _this_ — I’m sorry,” Yusei continued, his arms crossing nervously in front of his chest.

“No! No, that’s not it,” Judai forced himself to speak. “Yusei, I… don't think I can. I'm not— I mean, I _think_ I'm not... No. Sorry.”

He picked up his bag and turned heel, before he could change his mind, before he could take it all back, and _certainly_ before he could see the hurt on Fudo Yusei’s face.

 

* * *

 

“What the fuck do you mean, _‘you don’t think you can’?!”_ Johan cried. He sat on the edge of Manjoume’s bed, the latter of which was sulking under a mound of blankets.

“Exactly that,” Judai said lamely, wrapped in a blanket of his own. The three of them sat in near total darkness, the only light being the artificial glow from the tiny television propped up on Manjoume's desk. “I don’t think I can. I feel… mixed up, Johan.”

He sighed. “Besides, things are weird between him and Jack.”

“Who cares about Jack,” Johan ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. “He seemed like a total dick anyways. Told me Domino University was a hick school compared to SDU.”

“I still have to be his friend on stage for the next two months.”

“Must be nice to have someone want you,” moaned Manjoume from his self-imposed abyss. He wasn’t taking the news about Asuka particularly well.

“Look,” Johan’s tone settled seriously, catching Judai’s attention. “I know you’re confused, but how will you ever figure yourself out if you don’t give this a chance? You’ve been texting me _constantly_ about this guy for _weeks_ now.”

Judai's fists balled under his blanket, a physical manifestation of his frustration. “He doesn’t deserve to be treated like some sort of sexual experiment just because _I’m_ fucked up."

“Wanting to date a guy doesn’t make you _‘fucked up’!_ ” Johan was dangerously close to shouting. “Neither does questioning your orientation! _Christ_ , Judai, you’re acting like an idiot and it’s not like you.”

Johan had never been one to mince words, and while what he said stung, Judai couldn’t bring himself to deny any of it.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Johan’s voice was soft and serious again. “I just hate seeing you beat yourself up for something that’s not your fault— heck, something that shouldn't have  _fault_ assigned to it at all."

“There’s still hope for you, Judai,” Manjoume tacked on, his head of wild, dark hair finally emerging. “At least _one_ of us needs to be happy, and I think my chances are just about _zilch._ ”


	5. ACT 1: SCENE 4

ACT 1: SCENE 4

\- SAKAKI YUYA -

PRESENT DAY

 

“Somebody taught me like this once,” Judai held his arms out and pressed his thumbs together. With the rest of his hands, he cupped Yuya’s face, and placed his thumbs gently on Yuya’s lips.

“And _then_ ,” Yuya watched Judai with wide eyes as he planted his lips right on his own thumbs with a theatrical _smack_.

“Did whoever taught you do the sound effects, too?” Yuya asked, making Judai laugh and shake his head.

“That was just for dramatic effect.”

They were alone on the stage, the rest of the auditorium bare. The snowstorm that had blown in overnight shut down most of the buildings on campus, effectively cancelling both class and— surely to Yugi’s chagrin— rehearsal.

Yuya lived relatively nearby, so even though the snow was up to his knees in places, he trudged to the auditorium. He told himself it was to get a few hours of extra practice, but in reality he was just desperate to get away from his apartment— and Yuzu. They had gotten into an argument the day before, after Yuya returned dejectedly from rehearsal yet again.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t see how moping is gonna make anything better,” Yuzu dropped a wooden spoon into the soapy sink with a _sploosh._ The plate of food she left in front of Yuya remained untouched, despite the fact that he’d been sitting at the kitchen table for the better part of an hour.

“I’m not moping,” he grumbled back, picking disinterestedly at Yuzu’s latest cooking concoction. “I just don’t get _how_ I lost the part to someone like _him._ ”

Yuzu shut the faucet off, and an eerie silence fell on the kitchen.

“Have you ever stopped to think about how _he_ might feel?” She asked. “It’s not like he, I dunno, woke up one morning and thought _‘hey, you know what I should do? Piss off Sakaki Yuya.’_ ”

“You don’t know that,” Yuya said under his breath, earning himself a disapproving glare.

“ _Really_ Yuya?” Yuzu’s tone changed to something sharp and unfamiliar. “Why do you have it out for this kid?”

“I don’t know, he just pisses me off!” Yuya stood up, the air around him becoming uncomfortably hot. “Why are you taking his side all of a sudden?”

“Because he’s just a freshman!” Yuzu bit back, chucking a dish towel onto the counter. “Freshman year is hard on its own. He probably has enough to worry about without you making him feel so bad.”

“ _Y_ _uma’s_ the one making _me_ feel bad!”

“No, you’re making _yourself_ feel bad! Atem said—”

“I don’t care what Atem said,” Yuya threw his arms up in indignation before stomping away towards his bedroom. “None of this makes sense. _None_ of it. And you _aren’t_ helping.”

Yuzu’s reply was lost in the _whump_ of the door slamming shut. Yuya sucked in a shaky breath before collapsing on his bed, truly alone and feeling worse than he had in a long time.

 

* * *

 

That rattled feeling was still there when he woke the next morning. Arguments _rarely_ , if ever, broke out in their apartment, and when they did they were about inconsequential things, like who lost the TV remote.

And so, in a great act of cowardice, Yuya snuck out of his room and trekked his way to campus. To his great surprise, he’d met Judai in the parking lot, wrapped from head to toe in multiple layers.

“And just how were you expecting to get in there, hmm?” He asked, gesturing to the locked doors. Yuya’s face fell, until Judai took pity on him and flashed the key inside his pocket.

“Just kidding, kid,” he chuckled. “Let’s go inside.”

Now, the two of them sat together on the stage, breezing through their scenes. Acting alone with Judai was the most fun Yuya had had in the theatre in months. He was always willing to offer up a pointer, or share an encouraging word— things Yuya found himself pining for as of late. His warmth reached underneath Yuya’s skin, even with the snow piling outside.

“So, yeah,” Judai continued, inspecting the script in front of him. “Yuma and I will do the kiss _here,_ and then your move to stage center queues the orchestra… I _think._ ”

“Have you tried your ‘for-dramatic-effect’ stage kissing method with him, yet?” Yuya asked, pressing his thumbs together like Judai demonstrated.

“Er, no,” Judai frowned, his pen hanging limply from his fingers. “That’ll be a little weird.”

“Kissing Yuma? I thought you were—”

“Yeah, I am. But he’s so... _young._ ”

Yuya shrugged. “He’s nineteen. Just think about what you were doing when you were nineteen.

Judai’s eyes glazed over as he reminisced, an impish grin curling his lips.

“Yeah, I’d rather not. I was a wreck.”

Yuya laughed, and it felt like the first time he had done so in a while.

“Hey, don’t get so high-and-mighty,” Judai pouted. “Remember those goggles you used to wear all the time?”

That earned him a good-natured shove. Sure, Yuya had his fair share of missteps his freshman year. Although looking back, he felt more like a wreck _now_ than he had _then._

After all, nineteen year old Sakaki Yuya didn’t have to worry about Tsukomo Yuma, or a subpar role in a major production, or Yuzu’s shocked expression as Yuya slammed his bedroom door behind him…

“Hey, are you okay?” Judai’s voice snapped Yuya away from his thoughts. “You look distracted. Do you wanna keep going?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Yuya shook his worries to the side, back into the neat little box he liked to stuff them into.

“Okay. Can you check Yusaku’s station to see if he left the prompt book there? I’m having trouble visualizing how exactly this curtain is gonna fly in behind _you_ without smacking _me_.”

 

* * *

 

It was dark backstage— so dark that when Yuya first collided with a tall figure, he wasn’t sure at whether it was a human or a very solid mannequin.

“Yusei, h-hi,” Yuya stammered, the light from his phone illuminating a face that definitely didn’t belong to a mannequin. “What are you doing here?”

“Could say the same to you,” Yusei said gruffly, pulling off a pair of thick, wooly gloves. He peered around Yuya— not a difficult task for him. “Who else is here?”

“Uh, just me and… Judai,” Yuya replied uneasily. “Don’t worry. We won’t get in your—”

“I’ll be in the workshop,” Yusei interrupted, waving him off before walking back towards his domain.

Yuya wrinkled his nose, the distasteful interaction leaving a sourness on his tongue.

 

* * *

 

He scoured through Yusaku’s station by the blue glow of his phone, careful not to disturb the stage manager’s leaning stacks of schematics and takeout containers. He didn’t need yet _another_ key member of the company pissed at him. To his dismay, the prompt book was nowhere to be found.

“Didn’t think he’d leave it laying around,” Judai commented when Yuya returned empty handed. “Well, wanna go get lunch? I’m not sure there’s much else we can do.”

Yuya’s stomach growled in response, but an uncomfortable question bubbled to his lips. “Um, should we invite Yusei, too? I just ran into him backstage.”

Judai didn’t stop smiling, but his eyes suddenly looked sad. The change was so subtle that, had Yuya not known better, he may not have noticed.

“Nah, I don’t think he’ll wanna come,” Judai zipped up his heavy coat, trying to conceal the way he was glancing towards the wings of the curtains.

“You can’t continue this forever, Judai,” Yuya said quietly, aware that there may be another pair of ears listening in. "Have you even told him that I know? He acted like—"

“I know, I know. I’ll— I’m getting around to it.”

 

* * *

 

The wind had picked up by the time the two of them stepped outside, so much so that Yusei’s glittering red bike was peeking out from underneath its protective tarp. Judai tucked it back into place as they passed and shot Yuya a look, one that said _please, can we not talk about it._

 

* * *

 

After lunch, Yuya parted ways with Judai and made for the library— the only building that had remained officially open despite the snow.

 _I’m a coward,_ he thought to himself, climbing the stairs to the silent second floor. He had no reason to be in the library, and _knew_ he was just avoiding inevitably confronting Yuzu. It was sort of the same thing he had just reprimanded Judai for, in a wraparound way.

 _I’m a coward and a hypocrite,_ Yuya’s mental voice sounded miserable. He slid through rows of shelves, touching the spines of books as he passed until he found one that looked like it would hold his interest.

He settled into a nice corner desk and let himself sink into the wide, comfortable chair. His shoulders began to loosen themselves after a while— that is, until he saw a telltale shock of magenta hair bobbing through the bookshelves.

Yuya slid down in his seat and pulled the collar of his jacket up. He watched as Yuma glanced around the floor before plopping down at a vacant desk. He hadn’t noticed Yuya— at least, not yet.

 _Ignore him, Yuya,_ he instructed himself, turning back to his book and finding that he’d lost his place.

The minutes trickled by. Yuya occasionally glanced at Yuma, only able to overcome his curiosity in small increments.

Yuma had a thick textbook open in front of him, and was scratching furiously into a notebook. Pens and paper were scattered haphazardly atop the entirety of the desk he sat at.

The fifth time Yuya looked up, he caught Yuma closing his textbook, the resounding _thud_ echoing through the library like a gunshot. His pencil rolled out of his hand, and he laid his head down on the desk.

Yuya frowned. Slamming textbooks wasn’t very _Yuma_ of Yuma.

 _“Freshman year is hard on its own,”_ Yuzu’s words floated in his head like vengeful ghosts. _“He probably has enough to worry about without you making him feel so bad.”_

Yuya sighed. And then he sighed again. He silently cursed whatever deity had so conveniently manufactured this exact situation as he dogeared his book.

 _For Yuzu,_ he thought, and he stood up.

 

* * *

 

“Hi,” Yuya's voice cracked with disuse. “Um, can I sit with you?”

Yuma’s head lolled lazily on the desk. When he caught sight of Yuya, however, he sat up stick-straight, as if he’d been given an electric shock.

“Yes! I mean— sure,” he squeaked. “Um, hi.”

He clawed at the spread of papers and books in front of him, clearing a corner for Yuya. The two of them traded awkward eye contact as Yuya sat down wordlessly and reopened his book. Yuma followed suit, flipping carefully and quietly through his textbook and picking his pencil back up.

Again, Yuya fell into a rhythm of allowing himself a peek at Yuma every few minutes. He seemed to be struggling quite a bit, as evidenced by the way he shook the desk with his ferocious erasing.

_Freshman year is hard on its own…_

“What are you studying?” He kept his tone low. Yuma glanced around incredulously, making Yuya’s stomach pang with guilt. Had he really been _that_ unfriendly?

“Chemistry,” Yuma finally offered, after confirming there were no other possible targets for Yuya’s question. “I really suck at it. I had to meet with my professor the other day because I keep missing my 08:00 lecture. Rehearsal just runs so _late_ sometimes, and it’s _so hard_ to get out of bed. Then the homework takes forever because I don’t know what I’m doing, and…”

Once Yuma got going, it was hard to stop him. Yuya felt shame drip slowly down his spine as he realized that Yuzu had been right all along— Yuma was _definitely_ feeling the pressure.

“Can I take a look? I’m alright at this stuff.”

Yuma continued to wear the expression of a deer in the headlights as he scooted his textbook Yuya’s way and pointed to a question.

_‘Using the equation below, what mass of HgO is required to produce 0.692 mol of O2?’_

“Okay, so here’s the thing,” Yuya scooped up a forlorn pencil, and wrote the equation on a scrap piece of paper. “These here? They’re on opposite sides of the equation, so they cancel each other out.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Then take the number you get from that equation and multiply it by the number you get from your molar mass chart.”

Yuma grabbed for another sheet of paper, referencing it quickly before scribbling in his notebook at top speed. After a few moments, he flipped to the back pages of the textbook.

“I got it right,” he said, mystified. “I was making that _way_ harder than it had to be.”

Yuya reclined in his chair and continued to feign interest in his book, but kept a watchful eye trained on Yuma. Whenever he would start grinding his pencil into his notebook, Yuya would peer back into the chemistry textbook, offer a couple sentences of guidance, and then retreat. It was an uneasy partnership, but a partnership nonetheless.

Yuma closed his textbook with a note of finality just as the sun was beginning to set, a look of cautious triumph on his face.

“I’m done,” he said, his voice laden with relief. “I better head home before it gets dark… See you at rehearsal tomorrow?”

Yuya nodded, stifling a yawn. He’d best get on the way as well, wary of the falling temperature.

“Be careful going home,” he said.

“You too,” Yuma continued to hover by the desk, chewing his lip. “Um, and thanks for the help.”

 

* * *

 

“Yuzu?” It took every drop in Yuya’s courage reserves to knock on his roommate’s door. “Can we talk?”

Yuzu didn’t open it, but she did squeak _‘come in’_ from somewhere inside her bedroom. When Yuya opened the door, he was met with a truly pathetic sight: Yuzu, wrapped in a comically large blanket, her hair tied in a great knot on the side of her head. She was pouring over her laptop on her bed, dark circles under her eyes.

“Hey,” Yuya was deflated, his voice instantly soft. “I—”

“I’m _really_ sorry, Yuya,” Yuzu cut him off. “God, I was so _pushy_ for no reason. I should have just—”

“Nonono— no,” Yuya waved his arm, sitting uneasily on the end of Yuzu’s bed. “You were right. About everything.”

He took a steadying breath. “I ran into Yuma at the library today. He… seemed really stressed about school.”

Yuzu blinked, her lip quivering as if she was about to cry.

“I’ve just… I’ve been so _angry_ about the casting, I totally ignored the fact that none of this is even his fault,” Yuya sighed. “He’s just a kid.”

“I bet he looks up to you so much,” Yuzu said, and a single tear slid down her face.

Her words, again uncomfortably true, stabbed into Yuya’s heart. He closed his eyes and flopped onto his back, across the foot of the bed.

“I’m an idiot,” he moaned. “An idiot, and a coward and a hypocrite. Please forgive me, Yuzu.”

Yuzu sniffled, but she ran a hand gently through Yuya’s hair, sending a wave of relief down his neck. The movie she had been watching on her laptop cut to the end credits, filling the room with soft piano music.

“I forgive you,” she whispered. “We’ll get through this together.”


	6. ACT 1: SCENE 5

ACT 1: SCENE 5

\- YUKI JUDAI -

ONE YEAR PRIOR

 

SDU Theatre didn’t exactly _sanction_ post-show bar crawls, but the evening after the closing performance of _The_ _Night of Knights_ was a special case.

As the company struck through set pieces in the empty auditorium, Yugi announced with a quivering lip that he’d been promoted to Assistant Director of the Performing Arts. He was immediately piled onto by cast and crew alike, a happy mess of love and tears and sawdust.

Of course, no promotion was complete with a celebratory toast. Once the last fake log was reduced to rubble, the partially-costumed cast paraded into Cosmo’s, a popular bar just off the main campus drag.

 

* * *

 

Judai’s beer sloshed in its glass as he cheersed Yugi along with the rest of the cast. At his side, Sakaki Yuya halfheartedly raised the glass of milk the bartender had knowingly given him.

“Hey, at least they let you come inside,” Judai reminded him with a cheeky wink.

“Yeah,” Yuya flicked the edge of his glass, the dregs of his stage make-up smeared around his eyes. “But he could’ve just given me a water.”

The self-assurance and maturity he’d displayed as Sir Gearfried, the production’s lead role, had dissipated into thin air. Left behind was a moody, underage freshman with a glass of unwanted milk.

“Wanna go dance?” Judai prodded. The dance floor was steadily filling— the DJ luring club goers in with thumping bass rhythms.

Yuya was almost _too_ eager to abandon his drink. The pair slid off their bar stools and traipsed into the undulating crowd, keeping close to each other.

Judai liked the way the alcohol warmed his brain as he danced with friends and strangers. The kaleidoscope lights flashed in his face, reminding him of a dream he once had, in which he fell slowly through layers of color and noise until a man with dark features and strong arms caught him…

He shook his head, refusing to recall the dream man’s familiar face.

He needed more alcohol.

 

* * *

 

Yugi clanked his shot glass a little too forcefully against Judai’s, causing amber raindrops of tequila to spin towards the ground. The newly christened assistant director slammed the drink down as if he were back in college, and Judai had to try very hard to keep his jaw from dropping.

“You all act like I’m _so_ much older than you,” Yugi sang, squishing the lime rind into his glass. Asuka, the theatre’s resident Responsible Person, snatched it away from him, flashing Judai a disapproving look.

They bantered back and forth for some time, jumping from topic to topic before finally settling on the worst show they’d ever been a part of.

“It was— _hic_ — back in high school,” Yugi started. “They made us do _King Lear… King_ fuckin’ _Lear!_ ”

Judai loosed a laugh. Yugi Uncensored was nearly too much for him.

“Picture this: seventeen year old me, wearing a bathrobe and a thrift store Santa beard, shouting onstage for three hours. That was it. That was the entire play,” Yugi was beside himself, a great fat tear of laughter rolling down his face. “Not even my grandpa came to the second showing.”

 

* * *

 

Shortly after 01:00, a barely conscious Yugi had to be (tenderly, and with much love) shoved into a cab home. The remaining cast opted to party the night out, and Cosmo’s obliged, keeping the bass boosted and the liquor abundant. At some point, a spontaneous Duel Monsters tournament broke out at one of the back tables, and although nobody could actually _beat_ Yusaku, it looked like they had fun trying.

Judai watched idly from the bar, sipping on his fourth beer of the night. His twelve hour day combined with the alcohol was finally catching up to him, and his eyelids were becoming increasingly heavy. Crawling into his bed sounded more and more attractive by the minute.

_Jingle-ling._

The jovial door tone drew Judai’s attention. He turned with unfocused eyes, only to feel his face freeze into place as he watched Fudo Yusei step into the building. He was accompanied by his roommate, Crow something-or-other, whom Judai recognized from last year’s cast parties.

Judai grasped at his own thoughts, but they slipped through his fingers and clattered onto the bar top. Did they see him? Should he leave? Should he  _hide?_

“Hey,” he heard Yuya’s voice, and it yanked him out of his downward spiral. Yuya clambered onto the adjacent bar stool, slightly sweaty and with a telltale flush in his cheeks.

“Didja see?” Just now,” he whisper-shouted. “In the doors. _Yus_ —”

“I saw,” Judai cut him off, glancing around. “It’s fine, Yuya.”

Yuya blinked, spinning back and forth slowly. The stool screeched in protest.

“Y’sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Yuya frowned, obviously unconvinced, but dropped it. He ordered a water from the bartender, stumbling once or twice over his tongue.

“So who slipped you booze?” Judai asked, desperate to talk about anything other than Fudo Yusei. He tried to force some authority into his voice, but failed miserably.

“Booze? Like, _alcohol?_ ” Yuya gasped. He was decidedly worse at acting when drunk. “I’ve only had milk.”

“Sure,” Judai tried to elbow Yuya, but he ducked away at just the right moment, swaying dangerously. He’d need to be put in a cab home at some point.

The bartender delivered a glass of water, and Yuya chugged it all before jumping back off his stool.

“I’m gonna go dance some more,” he said. “Come get me if you need me, ‘kay? And don’t be weird!”

“I’m not being weird,” Judai called after him, but Yuya’s red hair was already bobbing among the sea of people.

Judai felt a pang off affection towards Yuya, and his loyal tendencies. Their friendship was one that Judai didn’t have to _try_ at— it just naturally unfurled in front of him, like the pages of a good book.

He straightened in his chair and glanced around the bar, definitely _not_ looking for Yusei. He spotted him quickly anyways, his head peeking out a few inches over the crowd surrounding Yusaku’s table. He appeared to be studying something, his eyebrows creased together. He was still wearing his backstage clothes, and his heavy bomber jacket was slipping off one of his bare shoulders…

Why was he staring? Judai needed to stop staring. Oh god, he really  _was_ weird.

He contemplated ordering another drink, but his head was already pounding as it was. Instead, Judai paid his tab and stumbled outside. The cold autumn air gripped his hazy brain in a comfortably uncomfortable way. It made it a little bit harder to think about the skin peeking out from underneath Yusei’s jacket.

 

* * *

 

Cosmo’s pulled the plug at 03:00, when the house lights suddenly flickered to life and the music cut out with a comedic _skrrtch._ The disgruntled crowd slowly filed out, supervised by the relieved-looking staff.

“S’not even _that_ late!” Yuya whined, leaning heavily against Judai’s guiding arm. “S’not even… erm, what time is it?”

The temperature had dipped, and the wind felt crisp against Judai’s bare skin. He wasted no time punching requests into his ride-sharing app.

“Ju-u-dai,” Yuya garbled, his breath fogging. “Did you talk to _you-know-who_?”

“What? No,” Judai mumbled back. Should he have? Did Yusei _want_ to talk to him? _Fuck,_ he shouldn’t have drank so much.

The two of them sat on the side of the road as the minutes passed. Judai watched the bar denizens slowly disperse, some tripping into the cold night, others piling into waiting cars. Yuya nestled his face into Judai’s shoulder and snored softly.

_Ping._

Judai reached for his phone and frowned at the blinking notification.

“Cancelled? For fuck’s sake,” he sighed, totally defeated. “C’mon Yuya, we gotta start walking. Our ride just cancelled and I don’t think there’s any left around.”

Yuya made a noise— a cross between a whine and a moan— but stood unsteadily. Judai looped an arm around his waist and was reassessing his life choices when he heard his name.

“Wait, Judai!”

Judai’s stomach flopped, and his thoughts became slippery once again. He slapped on his best fake smile as he turned to see Yusei and Crow pacing after them.

“Where’s your ride?” Crow asked. He peered curiously at Yuya, who was humming to himself, his eyes still closed.

“It cancelled on us,” Judai explained, shifting under Yuya’s weight. “S’okay, I just need to take him to the freshman dorm.”

“That’s at least a mile away,” Yusei frowned, and the same crease from before appeared between his eyebrows. It was cute— a manifestation of thought.

“We live right by the freshman dorm,” Crow added. “I can just drop him off.”

Judai _really_ did not want to drag Yuya all the way to his dormitory. He also _really_ didn’t want to explain to Yuya’s mom that her son died via motorcycle accident.

“Just… hang on to him, okay?” He decided on, offering up Yuya’s limp arm.

Crow grinned, and his teeth flashed in the low light.

“I’ll go slow. Promise.”

 

* * *

 

It took all three of them to get Yuya situated on the back of Crow’s bike. Judai watched as the two puttered down the road together, sucking in a deep breath when Crow dipped around the corner.

“They don’t have far to go,” Yusei’s voice was in his ear.

Judai was suddenly painfully sober. Only the two of them were left in the parking lot now— even the Cosmo’s staff had locked up and left. They stood quietly under the stars of the witching hour, and it wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as it should have been.

“How are you getting home?”

“I can walk,” Judai shrugged. “It’s… well, I’ll make it.”

Yusei chewed his lip before offering Judai his shiny red helmet.

“Can I give you a ride?”

 

* * *

 

Yusei made the ten minute trip in just five, his driving matching pace with Judai’s thoughts. All too soon, the growl of the engine was sputtering out, and he was handing Yusei’s helmet back to him.

He had to say something.

_Thanks for giving me a ride even though you should probably hate me._

_Sorry I blew you off and then ignored you for a semester._

_I feel weirdly about my sexual orientation and being around you makes it weirder._

“Thanks, and… I’m sorry. Like, _really_ sorry,” it was a poor attempt at knitting the strings of his consciousness together.

The hard line of Yusei’s jaw softened, and the slight edge of reproach that had glinted in his eyes vanished.

“I’m the one that should be sorry,” he said, his voice a bit graveled. “I made a false assumption about you, and then put you on the spot and— yeah.”

Judai took a breath. It was now or never.

“That’s the thing—,” his tongue was thick in his mouth, “— you weren't… exactly wrong. Listen, do you wanna come inside for just a minute?”

 

* * *

 

“You should have told me,” Yusei said through sips of his coffee. Judai was out of creamer, but Yusei said he preferred it black. "Plenty of people struggle with coming out. I could have helped you.”

"I know. I wish I would have," Judai sat in the other kitchen chair— the one with the wobbly leg. He wondered what bizarre timeline led to Fudo Yusei drinking coffee in his kitchen and talking about his sexuality at 05:00. He was an attentive listener, letting Judai spill his woes out in front of him— a never-ending fountain of bottled emotions and shame.

Yusei set his mug down on the table. It was actually Majoume’s— featuring a frowning thundercloud making a rude gesture. It didn’t really suit its current user.

“So where do we go from here?” There was challenge in Yusei’s voice, as if he already knew the answer and didn’t like it.

Judai paused. He met Yusei’s intense gaze, noticing for the first time just how blue his eyes were.

 _How will you ever figure yourself out if you don’t give him a chance?_ He heard Johan’s voice, throaty and exasperated, only wanting the best for him.

 _Don’t lie to yourself. And be honest with Yusei, too._ Now it was Asuka's, guiding him gently to his own conclusions.

Judai ignored the way his heart was pounding, ignored his shaking hands and his dry mouth and the prickling feeling in the corners of his eyes.

“Can… can we try this again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the rushed pacing! I only have one more chapter (Scene 6) before intermission, and I had to get through lots of gnarly plot. I promise the next one will be a little easier to chew! :)


	7. ACT 1: SCENE 6

ACT 1: SCENE 6

\- SAKAKI YUYA -

PRESENT DAY

 

_WHOOSH._

Yuya was forced to retreat into the shadows near Yusaku’s booth in order to avoid being flattened by the moving staircase. In his haste, he knocked a textbook onto the ground, earning a glare from the stage manager.

“Crew, this is a fifteen second set change at _maximum!_ ” Came Yugi’s voice, his stress magnified. The two crew members that had been pushing the staircase sprinted back into the wings to collect a heavy stone pillar, sweat glistening from their foreheads.

“Yugi,” Yusaku muttered into his headset as he flicked through the prompt book. “I have forty-five seconds marked for this change.”

Fifteen seconds _did_ seem a little short to Yuya. Not only did the staircase and stone pillars have to go on, the papier-mâché temple had to be partially deconstructed and rolled off— a big task for their small crew.

“Yes but— well, there are _four_ pillars,” Yusaku’s frown deepened as Yugi's voice buzzed in his ears. “Okay. I’ll let them know.”

He slipped the headset off and slung it around his neck with a sigh.

“What up with him?” Yuya whispered, keeping one eye trained on the stage for his queue.

“You’ll see,” Yusaku replied, cryptic as always. The low light accentuated the blue and pink that streaked through his hair— an oddly eccentric choice for someone as uneccentric as he.

Yuya wasn’t sure how to respond, so he didn’t, opting instead to appreciate the comfortable silence that Yusaku provided. He knew Yugi _had_ to be stressed, what with opening night a mere week away, but the extent to which he was pushing the cast and crew seemed a little extreme.

… Then again, things _were_ currently erring on the extreme side. The days standing between the cast and their final dress rehearsal were zooming by at alarming speeds.

Final exams were also marching ever closer, blanketing the company in yet another layer of suffocating stress. Rehearsals often flew by in great chunks— nothing but bright light and adrenaline and the sound of Yugi's voice. Yuya split his time offstage between coaching Yuma through their shared scenes and flipping through the pages of his Theatre History textbook, not truly paying full attention to either.

 

* * *

 

At 21:00, Yugi finally emerged from the booth, signaling the end of the night. The entire company rejoiced. They were all anxious to go home— especially the drenched backstage crew.

Just as Yuya was stuffing his belongings into his backpack, he heard his name called.

“One sec, guys,” Yugi said, his voice grim. “I need Yuma, Yuya, and Judai to hang back for a few.”

Yuya’s heart pounded uncomfortably in his chest as they congregated on the stage. Yusaku emerged from his dark lair, followed closely by Yusei. A triangle of sweat stained the neck of the latter’s shirt.

The group eyed each other nervously as they waited for Yugi to speak. Was someone dropping out? Or worse— was someone getting _kicked_ out? Losing just about any cast or crew member would be a major blow to the production at this point.

“Is anyone else freaking out?” Yuma echoed Yuya’s thoughts, his eyes flashing with panic.

“There’s no need to freak out,” Yugi soothed, but his tone was off. “I just wanted to break the news to you guys before I told the rest of the cast.”

“Are you quitting!?” Yuma squeaked. “Or dying! Is anyone dying!? Please tell me—”

“Yuma, _chill_ ,” Judai squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. His face was level, but Yuya could tell he was nervous.

“No, nobody’s dying,” Yugi started. “And I’m not quitting, but… well, someone else did.”

“ _Atem!_ ” Yuma moaned miserably.

“Atem was already quitting,” quipped Yusaku.

“Guys, _seriously,_ ” Yugi grasped desperately at the reigns. “Yes, Atem is still leaving. What I wanted to tell you is that the dean of the Liberal Arts college announced his resignation the other day, and the interim dean…”

Yugi trailed off before taking a deep breath.

“The interim dean is _not_ a fan of theatre. He’s lobbying to cut our funding by seventy-five percent.”

The auditorium went deathly silent, save for the jingle of Yusei’s key ring as he shifted from foot to foot.

“There’s no way,” Judai finally said, his grip tightening on Yuma’s shoulder. “The department’s been growing for _years._ SDU would never sign off on a cut like that.”

“You’d be surprised,” Yugi muttered, staring at the ground. “A couple years of growth mean very little to a college that’s been around for a hundred years. And with us losing Atem at the end of the semester… let’s just say the interim dean has a decent case.”

“So what’s our plan, then?” Yuya searched for words. “Appeal the cut?”

“We could make a slideshow presentation? A highlight reel?” Judai suggested.

“I... don’t think that’ll work,” Yusei said softly, and Judai scowled at him.

“You don’t know tha—”

“We already have a plan!” Again, Yugi raised his voice to nearly a shout, before immediately apologizing.

“Sorry, shouldn’t have yelled. But we have a plan. The interim dean agreed to come sit in on our dress rehearsal next week. If we can impress him, he’s agreed to push the decision back to at _least_ the end of the school year.”

There was a murmur of nervous agreement. The prospect of putting the department’s fate in the hands of a single person made Yuya sweat. Sure, the show was something special, but there was still work to be done before it was performance-ready. And it was almost written into theatre law that something _always_ went terribly wrong during the dress rehearsal.

“I’ll let the rest of the cast and crew know tomorrow,” Yugi continued. “I just wanted to give you all a heads up. I’ll be relying on you to lead your peers.”

“Great,” Yuma groaned. “I _suck_ at leading.”

 

* * *

 

Time flitted away before coming to a dead halt on the day of the dress rehearsal. The weather was gray and overcast, much like Yuya’s mood. He grudgingly went to class, resisting the urge to spend the day honing his lines and soothing his frayed nerves.

He slipped from desk to desk, paying no semblance of attention to stage design, or mood lighting, or why Othello got so worked up about a handkerchief. His professor’s words ran together into long streams of meaningless mush as his mind wandered. Before he knew it, his legs were carrying him to the auditorium.

That’s when everything went to shit.

 

* * *

 

“You’re telling me that _nobody’s_ seen Yuma today?” Yugi paced back and forth in the forward aisle, one hand tangled in his hair, the other waving frantically. His cast perched nervously in the seats of the front row, wearing various stages of costume and makeup. It was 16:00, and the interim dean was slated to arrive at 17:30.

_“Hiya, it’s Yuma! Leave a message!”_

Yuya snapped his phone off after getting Yuma’s voicemail for the fifth time. The tension in the air made every breath he took feel heavy, as if he was in a sauna that was just one degree too hot.

“I would’ve never expected this from him,” Judai groaned from his side, pulling at the edges of his sweeping black cloak. His phone was open on his knee, a long string of unanswered text messages to Yuma visible on the screen.

“Okay, okay, calm down,” Yugi stopped, speaking mostly to himself. “He’s not in _every_ scene, right? We’ll just do the ones without him.”

“That’s like… one scene,” Asuka mumbled, and Yugi began pacing again.

The rest of the cast chattered apprehensively as the minutes ticked by. Yuya slid further down in his seat, his thoughts racing. If the interim dean’s budget cut was approved, he may as well kiss his acting career goodbye. The theatre wouldn’t be able to keep it’s head above water, especially coupled with the loss of Atem.

Just as Yuya was considering the pros and cons of transferring colleges, the auditorium doors flew open. All the heads in the house perked up, only to sidle back down in their seats when they saw not Yuma, but Atem.

“What’s going on?” Atem’s voice boomed, commanding as always. Conversation died out immediately, all eyes on the Director.

Yugi looked close to tears as he ran to meet him. The two whispered frantically, and Yuya tried his hardest not to eavesdrop. After a few terse moments, Atem turned back to the cast, smoothing the front of his white shirt.

“Listen carefully,” he said, his tone severe, but not unkind. “I need everyone to search the campus for Yuma. Visit places where you’ve seen him spend time.”

The company was electrified. They split almost immediately, some on foot, some heading to the parking lot with their keys.

Yuya considered checking the freshman dormitory, but as soon as the thought crossed his mind he heard Yusei shout about heading that way. His next thought was to search the rest of the theatre building, but again, several of the crew beat him to it, their footsteps pounding through the hallways.

 

Sakaki Yuya (16:16)

if you were a stressed out freshman, where would you hide?

 

Hiiragi Yuzu (16:17)

is that even a question?

 

Hiiragi Yuzu (16:17)

the library.

 

A light bulb clicked in Yuya’s mind, and he thanked his lucky stars (not for the first time) that Yuzu was his friend.

He knew where to find Yuma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! Thanks for sticking with me through this— TSOHP is the first long-ish piece I've ever attempted, and I was nervous to even put it up in the first place. Your support means a lot!


	8. INTERMISSION

INTERMISSION

\- FUJIKI YUSAKU -

THE DAY BEFORE THE DRESS REHEARSAL

 

“I disagree,” Ryoken said over the click of his mechanical keyboard. “The sample size is too small.”

“The sample— _ugh_ ,” Takeru moaned. He reclined in his gaming chair, nudging it into the back of Yusaku’s. “Ryoken, can you _please_ try not to be a nerd for like, thirty seconds?”

The SDU e-sports team was still a fledgling, having only been founded two years prior. Although the university gave it a small allowance each year for equipment and the like, the only meeting space they’d been able to offer was nothing more than a glorified broom closet.

The lack of personal space didn’t really bother Yusaku, though. He had room for his monitors, and a comfortable chair, and a tactile keyboard. What else did he really need to be successful? He’d always been good at tuning others out— which may be why he doubled so well as a stage manager.

“All I’m saying is that there may be a chance,” Takeru continued on to whoever would listen— his teammates, his monitor, the air above his head. “We talked for like… eight minutes. _And_ he gave me his number!”

“Yeah, because he’s your partner for that engineering project, right?” Aoi interjected. “He _had_ to give you his number.”

“You can’t determine romantic compatibility from eight minutes of conversation,” Ryoken mused, eyes still focused on one of his two screens.

Takeru swiveled in his chair in a way that was probably meant to look defiant.

“Fine, whatever,” he pouted. “There was a spark and I know it. I’ll win him over.”

“Mmm, probably not,” Yusaku spoke up.

“Why?”

“A couple reasons.”

“Let me guess— are there three?”

Yusaku frowned. Was he really that predictable?

“Well, yeah. First, I’m pretty sure Yusei is secretly dating—”

“Uh, guys,” Aoi interrupted. “Match starts in ten seconds.”

The closet fell into silence as the timer ticked down, only to explode with rapid clicking and as soon as the map loaded in. Yusaku felt a familiar rush of hyper awareness flood his brain as he navigated his character through the map, picking off other players with deadly precision.

It was a good match up— both teams obviously skilled with the game’s controls. However, the tide eventually turned in Yusaku’s favor, as it tended to do. By the end of the game, their opponents had no way to deflect the final killing blow from REVOLVER— Ryoken’s avatar.

As their rewards for winning rolled across the screen, Yusaku’s alarm pinged from his phone, signalling the beginning of rehearsal. He slipped his headset off and exchanged a glance with Aoi, who followed suit.

“So when’s the show, anyway?” Takeru asked, wrapping the cord sloppily around his headset. “I’ll drag Ryoken to one of the performances. We’ll make a poster with your faces on it.”

“I won’t be doing either of those things,” Ryoken deadpanned. “I don’t understand your attachment to the theatre in the first place.”

“Well, it’s something to do that doesn’t involve a closet full of boys,” Aoi said. Takeru clutched at his heart comically, as if her words had cut into his skin.

Ryoken turned to Yusaku.

“What’s your reason?”

“I have a few,” Yusaku said as he slung his backpack across his shoulders and made for the door. He didn’t elaborate, because he didn’t really need to.

After all, they were _his_ reasons.

 

* * *

 

The sterile hallways of the administrative offices felt very different than the ones that Yusaku was used to. The building that housed them was the newest on campus, boasting a modern glass front and pristine white furniture— the kind that you feel bad for sitting on. Yusaku felt out of place among all the newness, having become so accustomed to the well-loved brick of the auditorium.

He’d parted ways with Aoi once they’d escaped the confines of their broom closet, citing a meeting with their e-sports team adviser. Aoi gave him a look that said _‘I know you’re lying’_ , but nonetheless agreed to let Yugi know he’d be late.

She was right, of course. At least partially. Yusaku _was_ heading to their adviser's office, but the e-sports team was the last thing on his mind. The time for games had come and gone.

Yusaku was walking a warpath.

 

* * *

 

**‘INTERIM DEAN OF LIBERAL ARTS AND SCIENCES’**

_**KAIBA SETO** _

The plaque on the heavy door had already been changed, the cuts in the metal still fresh and sharp. Yusaku thought it was sort of a pretentious title, but then again, its new owner was sort of a pretentious man.

The eyes of the dragon statuette glittering on the corner of Kaiba Seto’s great mahogany desk seemed crueler than usual. It’s owner peered curiously at Yusaku as he entered the office, his eyes not much different.

“Yusaku. Isn’t our meeting scheduled for next week?” Kaiba asked. He wore his usual perfectly pressed suit, a diamond-encrusted SDU pin shining from his lapel.

Yusaku steeled his resolve, his face showing no emotion. He counted to three in his head before speaking.

“I’m here to talk about the theatre.”

There was a moment of silence while his words reverberated in the air. Kaiba sighed, gesturing to the stiff chair opposite his desk.

“I don’t think what you’re doing is right,” Yusaku sat, but continued to talk. He had to say his piece before his courage ran out, before the newly appointed interim dean could sniff out any semblance of weakness. “They— _we_ — work hard. We’ve seen considerable growth in the last few years and are projected to keep growing. It's totally inappropriate to even _suggest_ de-funding a successful program by such a drastic amount.”

Kaiba’s expression remained unmoved. He glared directly at Yusaku, challenging him. Yusaku stared right back, pretending to be unafraid.

“There’s been some growth, sure. But it's not enough. The numbers don’t lie,” Kaiba’s voice was all business. “I can’t continue to fund a dying program. Our donors won’t have it.”

He paused. “This reflects poorly on you, Yusaku. I've never taken you as one to get caught up in trivial matters. It’s unfortunate.”

“What’s _unfortunate_ is that you’re letting your personal biases affect a decision of this scale,” Yusaku snapped back, blood rising in his face.

Woah.

 _Calm down_ , he chided himself. There was too much on the line to get emotional.

“All I’m saying is that the money would be better suited elsewhere,” Kaiba’s tone suddenly changed, his mouth twisting into a smirk. “Say, for example, the e-sports team? You’ll need more funding to keep it up and running… it’d be a shame to see such a promising club get shut down.”

Yusaku’s mouth went dry. Alarm bells rang in his head.

“Don’t bring the e-sports team into this,” he muttered. He would not plead, even though a small part of him wanted to.

“All I’m saying is the funds would be easy to reallocate,” Kaiba shrugged, before leaning forward. “You know I’m sitting in on your dress rehearsal tomorrow, correct? The board requires that I give it a fair chance, of course, but you could always use your position to… _influence_ the outcome.”

Yusaku felt sick. He felt _angry_. He saw faces behind his eyes— Ryoken, Takeru, Aoi… Yugi, Yusei, Atem. He saw dedication stretching through many, many years, and _equal_ dedication stretching through just two.

Kaiba rose suddenly from his desk, startling Yusaku. He opened his office door and inclined his head towards it, marking the end of their conversation.

“Think about it," Kaiba said as Yusaku left. "What's _really_ important to you?” 

He closed and locked the door with a resounding _click,_ and Yusaku went numb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we come, Act 2!


	9. ACT 2: SCENE 1

ACT 2: SCENE 1

\- TSUKOMO YUMA -

PRESENT DAY

 

At 06:30, Yuma’s fitful sleep was interrupted by the unpleasant screech of his alarm. He’d only just hit his pillow a couple hours earlier, having spent much of the night studying.

It was the day of the dress rehearsal that would determine the fate of SDU Theatre. Not only that, but the rising sun marked two days until Yuma's final chemistry exam. As he ghosted through his morning routine, he thought about which which one scared him more, and couldn’t come up with an answer.

 

* * *

 

The third floor of the SDU library— colloquially referred to by students as _‘The Place Where Dreams Go to Die’_ — was a designated quiet floor. On most days, this sanctuary for the severely stressed was sparsely populated, however this was not the case come the end of the semester. Finals saw an influx of students flocking to the somber halls— an influx that included one very tired Tsukomo Yuma.

Yuma rarely ever visited the third floor. He though the silence was a little creepy, and hated the way people would tut at any and every sound. He studied better amongst the controlled chaos of the second floor, where students were allowed to chat and collaborate and sneeze, if they needed to.

Today, however, he forced himself up the foreboding staircase, dreading the eerie quiet that met him at its peak. He crunched numbers in his head as he tiptoed to a desk in the back, shuffling carefully around other students-turned-zombies.

 _Nine hours,_ Yuma thought to himself as he opened the textbook he feared would lead to his doom (or, at least, to remedial chemistry, which was arguably the same thing).

He had nine whole hours to study before he was due in the auditorium for hair and make-up. Nine hours to relearn an entire semester of material.

That was enough time, right?

… Right?

He gazed around the floor, taking in the other third floor denizens. Some were totally entrenched, both their personal and academic belongings spanning across entire table tops. There was even one girl snoozing away in a sleeping bag on the floor.

 _Sleep_. Sleep sounded nice. Yuma yawned (although he didn’t really have time to) and dug his nose into his work.

 

* * *

 

Yuma studied hard, harder than he ever had. He scratched away at practice problems and jabbed equations into his calculator as a track akin to that of a movie montage played in his head.

His answers, to his great surprise, started matching up with those in the back of his textbook. The more he progressed, the more the crushing fatigue he’d felt earlier melted away. Why had he been so worried about this?

Once the last problem was solved, the last equation balanced, Yuma glanced at his watch— when had he put on a watch?

“Only noon!?” He exclaimed. “I have all the time in the world!”

The library warmed considerably as Yuma packed his things and raced outside. He hailed a cab, citing the beach near campus as his destination. It was a warm day, full of sunshine and summer smells.

The colors of the cityscape flashed through the windows of the cab, and the two-hour drive was over in what felt like mere seconds.

“The ride’s on the house,” the cab driver winked.

Yuma relished the feeling of the warm sand beneath his feet. He basked in the sunlight, and threw his chemistry textbook into the ocean with a triumphant shout. Everything was going to be okay after all. Even the waves seemed to sing his name as they washed gently upon the shore.

_Yuma… shhh… Yuma… shhh…_

Nothing to worry about.

_Yuma! Shh!_

… Er, that last wave was pretty big.

“Yuma!”

Yuma jolted forward with a start. The dreary walls of the library enclosed him once more, devoid of all the warmth and comfort of the beach. Nearly every pair of eyes in the room was narrowed angrily at him.

“Yuma, what the _fuck?_ ” A familiar voice whispered. Yuma turned to see Yuya, his expression not quite as angry, but nowhere near pleased, either.

Yuma’s mouth moved, but no words came out. The pages of his textbook were crumpled where his head had been just moments ago, and question 19f was obscured by a tiny puddle of spit.

Realization crashed down— he’d fallen asleep. He hadn’t even written his full name on the top of his study guide.

“What time is it?” He asked, ignoring the chorus of students shushing him. Yuya yanked his phone out of his pocket and flicked it on.

16:30. A mere hour before the dress rehearsal was scheduled to begin.

Yuma’s body went strangely numb in response. His fingers, which had been digging through sun-warmed sand just moments ago, went cold before disappearing entirely. His arms followed, slumping to his sides as his head hit the desktop with a great, defeated _whump._

“I give up,” he whispered into the weathered wood. “I’m done.”

“There’s no time,” Yuya muttered back, stuffing the chemistry textbook into Yuma’s backpack and hitching it onto his own shoulders. “We have to go.”

 

* * *

 

They trekked across campus in total silence, until Yuya stopped abruptly outside the double doors of the auditorium. Yuma, only half-paying attention, smacked into him, mumbling what felt like his thousandth apology of the afternoon.

“Freshman year is hard, Yuma,” Yuya started. “We’ve all been there. Nobody is mad at you.”

“Except me,” Yuma replied. He hated the way his voice cracked. “ _I’m_ mad at me.”

There was a pause. Yuma watched as Yuya seemed to struggle for words. With a start, he realized it was first time he’d ever seen Yuya struggle with _anything._ His record was seemingly spotless both on and off stage— his lines always memorized, his marks always high.

Simply put, he was everything Yuma wanted to be— talented, respected… _punctual._ Yuya was a leader, and a damn good one at that.

“I don’t want you to be mad at yourself,” Yuma broke the silence with slow, thoughtful words. “Look, I’ve been there. When this show first started… before I knew you, I was _positive_ I had to be the right person for your part.”

Yuma knew this. He remembered Yuya’s scathing stares, and all the times he left rehearsal wondering what he’d done wrong.

“I was angry for a long time, and I thought I was angry at you. But honestly?” Yuya sighed. “I was angry at myself. I thought I failed, but I didn’t. I did my best. And that’s exactly what you’re doing now.”

“I don’t think my best is enough anymore,” Yuma stared at his feet, suppressing the urge to cry. “You should have gotten my part. You wouldn’t have—”

“You’re wrong,” Yuya interrupted, a newfound vigor in his voice. “You’re _so_ wrong. Yuma, you’re amazing as Astral. You do things on stage that I _wish_ I could do.”

He sighed. “My point is that being mad at yourself doesn’t do anything for you, or your situation, or anyone around you. Things may not be perfect, but that doesn’t mean you should give up.”

He was right. Of _course_ he was right. Yuma felt a wave of emotion wash over him, like the waves of his dream breaking on the tawny sand.

“I won’t,” he nearly whispered. He had to at least try. He’d never forgive himself if he gave up.

Yuya gave him a sort of cautious smile. Then, much to Yuma’s surprise, he stepped close and wrapped him in a hug, bringing the sensation back to the tips of his fingers.

Yuma melted. His shoulders loosened from his ears and he let out a sigh of relief— a sigh that was echoed by Yuya.

“We’ve got this, Yuma,” he murmured. “Just stick with me, okay? We’ve _got_ this.”

Yuma believed him.

 

* * *

 

The unfamiliar man seated in L21 gave Yuma the heebie-jeebies. He wore a black turtleneck and black pants, and seemed to blend seamlessly into the low lighting of the house. He gazed unblinkingly at the empty stage with an intensity that made Yuma shudder.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he muttered, peering at the man from the safety of the left wing.

“Just pretend he’s in his underwear,” Judai hummed, struggling with the drawstring of Yuma’s cream-colored cloak. “ _Fuck,_ I can’t quite— hey, Yusei? Can you get this?”

The props manager perked at the sound of his name, appearing at Judai’s side almost instantly. He towered over Yuma, peering curiously at the tangle of string around his neck.

“Thanks,” Judai breathed, touching Yusei’s side. They must be really close friends, Yuma thought.

The house lights dimmed and the orchestra began to tune as Yusei undid the mess of fabric. He hummed along to the strings, his fingers moving deftly despite the darkness.

“I’m gonna go get set. Break a leg, Yuma!” Judai disappeared into the space behind the backdrop. Yuma’s heart jumped nervously in his throat, and he wondered idly if Yusei could feel it through his gloves.

What if he screwed up? What if he forgot his lines? That one part of Scene 2 still tripped him up sometimes. Would that be enough to sink the entire production?

“There we go,” Yusei murmured, flattening the neat knot against Yuma’s neck.

“Thanks,” Yuma said back. The two stood in the darkness as the orchestra played the sweeping, ethereal chords of the grand opener. The song had always sent shivers down Yuma’s spine, but tonight all it did was make him shake even harder. He fiddled with the tape holding the microphone to his face to busy his unsteady hands.

“Nervous?” Yusei asked, raising an eyebrow. His eyes were intense, but in a sort of warm, almost paternal way. They were totally different than those of their mystery audience member.

“A little,” Yuma replied honestly.

“Good,” Yusei said. “It shows that you care.”

Yuma let out a timid _heh_ before peering back into the house. He wished Judai had stayed by his side— Yusei alone was a little intimidating.

Just as the strings in the orchestra were beginning to quiet, Yuya came tearing out from behind the stage. He looked— well, he looked a little frightening, with his dark eye make-up and grandiose crown. But he was supposed to look that way.

The violins sang their last melancholy note— Yuma’s cue.

“You’re gonna do great out there,” Yuya shot him a thumbs up. “Give it your best shot and everything else will fall into place.”

“Break a leg,” Yusei whispered.

“You too— break your face,” Yuma whispered back, taking one last, centering breath. He made eye contact with Judai, waiting by Yusaku in the other wing, and said a prayer.

Then he stepped on to the stage.


	10. ACT 2: SCENE 2

ACT 2: SCENE 2

\- FUDO YUSEI -

THE NIGHT BEFORE THE DRESS REHEARSAL

 

The clock on Yusei’s nightstand read 23:59 in glowing blue numbers. Steam crept from underneath his bathroom door, making the air in his room heavy and dreamlike. Yusei had finished in the shower at least ten minutes ago, but Judai opted to stay behind.

“Just a few more minutes,” he flicked water at Yusei’s chest playfully, his wet hair hanging in his eyes. “I know you get lonely without me.”

Yusei watched the colon between the hours and minutes flicker until the clock flipped to 00:00.

 _The dress rehearsal is today,_ he thought immediately. The fate of the entire department was riding on the events that would transpire in several short hours. The thought squeezed uncomfortably at his stomach.

The bathroom door flew open, and another part of him was made uncomfortable at the sight of a nude, slightly damp Judai. The lean muscles of his back shone golden in the artificially warm light of the bathroom as he toweled his hair dry.

“What’s that look for?” He teased, and Yusei realized with a start that his mouth was dangling open. He clamped it shut with a _pop._

“N-nerves,” he stammered, a flush finding its way into his cheeks. “I’m nervous. About tomorrow.”

It was simultaneously the truth as well as a lie.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Judai rummaged through the dresser, retrieving a worn pair of Yusei’s shorts and pulling them on. They hung low on his hips, and Yusei had to force himself to look away.

Judai was either oblivious, or very good at pretending that he was. He turned out the lights before jumping in bed and pressing his chilly hands against Yusei’s back.

“The show will be great, Atem will look nice and scary, and the interim dean will just forget the whole thing. And then I’ll give you a big celebratory _smooch_.”

He paused. “In private, of course.”

Yusei sighed. He shouldn’t have, but he did.

It’d been nearly a year since they’d confessed their feelings for each other over coffee at 05:00. Despite that, Judai refused to relinquish his grip on the most contested term of their relationship— secrecy.

“I take it that's not up for debate,” Yusei breached the topic for what felt like the millionth time. He tried to keep his tone light as he rolled towards Judai and wrapped him in his arms. He smelled like apple-scented body wash.

“You know me,” Judai tucked the frayed quilt around both of their shoulders. “Things’ll be easier once you graduate. We won’t have to worry about people seeing us after rehearsal or anything. We could even go away some weekends. I’ve heard that the beach up north is nice in the summer.”

Yusei grimaced in response, hoping it would come off as a smile.

He hated that all their time together felt stolen, how Judai ignored him in public. He hated that they’d never relaxed together in a coffee shop, or poured over textbooks together in the library _._ He craved a closeness that Judai actively avoided, and for a reason that Yusei didn’t really understand.

Of course, Judai was worth it— a thousand times over, he was worth it. But that didn’t stop Yusei’s heart from aching every time he was spoken to with that controlled, _we’re-in-public_ voice.

Judai sighed as Yusei ruminated, his body relaxing. Somewhere outside the window, Yusei heard a dog barking into the night sky.

He loved him. He _loved_ him, but he couldn’t tell him, because even after all this time Judai still felt so delicate in his arms. One wrong move and he might fly off, like a bird shooed from a window sill.

And so Yusei stilled his tongue. He tucked Judai close, curving around him and burying his face into his hair.

It was only when Judai’s breath became heavy and even that Yusei whispered the words he’d been yearning to say into the empty air of his bedroom.

 

* * *

 

Yusei was _not_ scared.

Nervous? Maybe a little. But that didn’t bother him— his nerves could sharpen his senses, make everything around him a little clearer, a little louder. He could master his nerves, and that made them okay.

Fear, on the other hand, was _not_ okay. Fear did nothing but cripple him. It made his mind cloudy and his hands fumble— a bad combination for the person controlling the most dangerous piece of equipment in the theatre. The fear of failure was already on the minds of many, as evidenced by their flickering eyes and timid footsteps. Yusei figured the least he could do was try not to contribute to it.

“Yusei,” Yusaku’s voice sparked to life in his headset, drowning out the whine of the orchestra. “Are we set?”

“Set, check,” Yusei confirmed, signaling his crew. They moved like a well-oiled machine, reeling the main curtain back into the wings and revealing the glistening temple set that Yusei had spent many a late night constructing in his workshop.

 _Worth it_ , he thought, and he was right. The epoxied wood shone brightly under the lights, the backdrop of twinkling stars and planets contrasting with it perfectly.

Yuma entered as the music cut out. He delivered the opening lines of the production with a strong and unwavering voice. The nerves he’d been shaking with just moments before were nowhere to be found.

Yusei monitored the pulley box hidden away in its lean-to as he listened to Yuma speak. He was good— _really_ good. A little scatterbrained, and maybe a touch naïve, but his raw talent was undeniable. In a way, he reminded Yusei of—

“As— _tral_!”

Yusei’s heart pounded as he watched Judai enter from the other side of the stage. The spotlight made his copper hair shine, and the dark cloak that swished across the floor behind him made his movements fluid and effortless.

He was… he was _wow._

He radiated confidence, striding across the stage as if it he were born to do so. He bantered with Yuma, who kept perfect pace with him— two sides of the same coin. The dramatic lines reverberated perfectly in the house, and the lines that were supposed to be funny even drew smiles from Yusei’s backstage crew, who had undoubtedly heard them rehearsed a thousand times before.

Yusei couldn’t look away. He was staring. He _knew_ he was staring, and yet he couldn’t stop. Judai— _his_ Judai— was breathtaking. Nobody could possibly shut down a department that boasted talent like _that._

“Yusei? You okay?”

Yuya was standing just behind him, waiting for his cue. His eyebrow, darkened with make-up, was cocked knowingly.

“Yeah, sorry,” Yusei’s cheeks burned with guilt as he looked away. Judai would be upset if Yuya told him he’d been staring again. “I was just— ah—”

“Look man,” Yuya sounded uneasy. It wasn’t often that the two of them spoke without Judai around. “I know about… about _that_.”

He gestured vaguely to the stage, where Judai was kneeling before the High Priestess.

Yusei blinked. Had he heard that correctly?

He glanced around for eavesdropping ears, before leaning in closer to Yuya, who recoiled ever so slightly.

"About Judai?"

"Yeah."

“Did he tell you?”

Yuya nodded. “A while back. I’m not the only one who knows. Um, sorry to break it to you.”

Little did he know there was nothing to be sorry for. Quite the contrary, actually.

“How long have you known?” Yusei struggled to keep his tone down, adrenaline now pumping hot and fast in his veins.

“I dunno, a while?” Yuya shrugged. “I think Asuka and Manjoume know too, and maybe a few others. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone else. I just wanted you to know that you don’t have to hide from me.”

Yusei opened his mouth, a volley of questions on the tip of his tongue, before he was interrupted by a burst of static in his ears.

“Yusei, set for Scene 2?” Yusaku’s voice cut his interrogation short.

“Shit,” Yusei cursed under his breath. He paused, unsure of what to say to Yuya. Thanks? Sorry? Thanks _and_ sorry?

He settled for a sort of curt nod, which Yuya returned— something sort of like unspoken respect passing between them.

“Just don’t do anything stupid with him,” Yuya quipped as Yusei turned to go. “I know where you live.”

 

* * *

 

Act One continued on, like a seaworthy boat on (mostly) calm waters.

The show was not an easy one to run, even with Yusei’s expertise and Yusaku’s ability to command. The light cues were exceedingly specific, and the set changed between almost every scene.

The backstage crew was sweaty and sore by intermission, but as soon as the curtain dropped they exchanged grins and silent high fives. They had done well, and when Yusei told them this, they beamed at him brilliantly.

The company filed into the back hallways of the theatre, whispering excitedly. It was obvious that they felt good about how Act One had gone, and were eager to get a sip of water and a breath of fresh air before Act Two. Yusei stood by, pretending to look after them.

In reality, he only had eyes for one face.

 

* * *

 

Yusei hadn’t been scared before, but truth be told, he was now. Judai had given him a dangerous look when he’d called his name— a look that said _careful, Yusei._

“I just need to double check your next entrance,” Yusei lied lamely, leading him to the newly empty left wing. A few people watched after them curiously, only to be ushered away by Yuya, who spoke reverently about cool air and water.

“This better be good,” Judai frowned as he followed Yusei into the shoddy privacy of the pulley system lean-to. “A bunch of people saw—”

His words sputtered out as Yusei pulled him close. Their lips met, and the confusion of the moment melted away as if it never existed.

Yusei kissed him in a way that was frantic, his needy hands wandering over the planes of Judai's body. It felt as if they hadn’t seen each other in a very long time, even though they’d spent the night before together (and the night before that, and the night before that). Judai kissed him back, to his great surprise, smiling against his mouth.

“Okay, that _was_ pretty good,” he smirked, leaning away for a moment. He pressed another kiss into Yusei’s neck, and Yusei felt his skin grow hot. “But seriously, what’s going on?”

“Yuya knows,” Yusei relinquished his grip on Judai’s waist. “Did you tell him?”

“What? Yeah, I—,” Judai frowned, clutching at the hem of Yusei’s black shirt. “I guess I did. Why?”

“I can't believe it,” Yusei breathed. “You told somebody about us.”

“Well, yeah,” Judai chewed his lip, and Yusei wanted nothing more than to kiss him again. "I'm fine if a few people know. I just didn't want to announce it to the whole department.

"A few people is all I need," Yusei repeated. "So that if I— I don’t know, got struck by lightning— _someone_ else would know that this happened.”

“Yusei, I…” Judai trailed off. “Shit, I’m stupid. I didn’t realize it was that important to you.”

“It is,” Yusei said. “But not worth losing you over. Or making you uncomfortable.”

There was a commotion from somewhere outside the lean to— signaling the end of their stolen moment.

Judai reached up for Yusei’s face. His lips ghosted across Yusei’s cheek, and brushed against his ear.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice low. “I love you. I don’t deserve you.”

Time seemed to slow around them. The commotion outside the lean-to quieted into ethereal nothingness.

All Yusei could see was Yuki Judai, who loved him. All he could hear was Yuki Judai, who loved him. He felt like his chest would surely burst as he kissed him again.

He was the only thing in the world worth thinking about— the way he felt, the way he tasted, the way he looked the previous night straddled across his—

Yusei took a step forward, and the toe of his boot caught against the pulley box. Judai’s brown eyes widened as they lost their balance, his arms grasping for purchase while falling backwards.

Yusei twisted in the air, encasing Judai with his arms.

_Snap._

Judai screamed, and the world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say there would be face breakage.


	11. ACT 2: SCENE 2.5

ACT 2: SCENE 2.5

\- KAIBA SETO -

PRESENT DAY

 

The thrill of victory never got old for Kaiba Seto. People used to call him _hyper-competitive_ or _unsportsmanlike_ or _a big bag of dicks_ , but where were those people now? Not single-handedly axing the neck of an obsolete collegiate program, that’s for sure.

He watched with crossed arms as the paramedics loaded the kid with the bloodied face into an ambulance. A river of students, both costumed and clad in black, followed close behind. Their many voices melded together into one chaotic roar, echoing into the dark night’s sky.

Kaiba spotted Yusaku’s bright hair bobbing amongst the chaos. He wondered idly if the current situation was his follow-up to their rendezvous the day before. If so, it was a little over-the-top— but then again, Kaiba had always been an advocate of the dramatic flourish.

The notion was quickly dispelled, however, as Yusaku ushered a group of students into his car with quick, panicked words, barely audible amidst the havoc.

 _It couldn’t have been his doing,_ Kaiba mused.

No, only the unexpected could unnerve _that_ one. This must have been a true accident.

How convenient.

Kaiba checked his phone absentmindedly as the ambulance and its entourage pulled away from the building. He was eager to get back to his office and begin the mounds of paperwork that would finalize the budget cuts.

> **Kaiba Mokuba (19:25)**
> 
> how’s the play?
> 
>  
> 
> **Kaiba Mokuba (19:25)**
> 
> can we go see it together some time?

“Kaiba,” a voice interrupted Kaiba’s half-hearted message back to his younger brother. He looked over his shoulder to see Moto Yugi approaching, his hands twisted together nervously.

“Will he be okay?” Kaiba inclined his jaw towards the road, which flickered blue and red from the emergency lights.

“The paramedics said he’d need stitches,” Yugi sighed. “The safety lock on the grand curtain pulley failed. Snapped clean off the box.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Kaiba replied. “Although it makes my decision easier to make.”

Yugi went white as a sheet. “Actually, that's what I came to talk about. D-don’t you think we should reschedule?"

Kaiba raised an eyebrow. "Why would we do that?"

"Well, this was a freak accident! In my five years here I’ve _never—_ ”

“Do you know how much work it’s going to take to fix this mess?” Kaiba interjected. “We’ll have to release a statement, and possibly come to a settlement with the injured student. I’ll also need to do a safety audit of the entire auditorium, which could take _months_ …”

Okay, so he was hamming it up a bit. The university had insurance to cover this exact type of scenario. But Yugi didn’t necessarily _need_ to know that.

They stood in silence for a few more moments, the whine of the ambulance growing fainter and fainter in Kaiba's ears. From the corner of his eye, he could see Yugi staring straight forward, a look of blank defeat on his face.

Kaiba had to work very hard to suppress his triumphant grin. Life was all about winning, and he sure was doing a lot of it lately.

 

* * *

 

Of course, nothing was ever quite as easy as it first seemed. Even as he was collecting his bag and pulling his heavy coat over his shoulders, Kaiba knew there’d be one more person standing between him and _true_ victory.

And sure enough, that one person was waiting to meet him in the dark lobby of the auditorium. Atem looked as he always had— sharp, professional. Regal, even. The sight of him caused a storm to brew in Kaiba's head.

“I’ll be sending some paperwork your way tomorrow,” he feigned sympathy. “I’m sorry to see how things turned out.”

“Spare me the act, Kaiba,” Atem shot back. Kaiba loathed the way his voice chilled his bones. “You know as well as I do that this department— this _show_ — deserves another chance.”

“Do I, _Director?_ ” Kaiba spat. “True, the show exceeded my expectations. But I _cannot_ overlook a student injury.”

As much as it pained him to admit it, the performance was good— good enough to make Kaiba second-guess his plans. It would greatly tarnish his reputation if he cancelled a show that would eventually make its way to the big leagues.

The panicked shouting that he'd heard after the first act had come as almost a relief.

“You coward,” Atem’s voice was dangerously low. “You’re so hellbent on getting what you want that you’re willing to _lie_ and _manipulate_ your way to it.”

“Lie? Maybe,” Kaiba shrugged. “But manipulate? I’ve done nothing of the sort. Certainly you’re not blaming _me_ for your faulty equipment?”

“Of course not, although I don't appreciate you attempting capitalize on it,” Atem pulled a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket. “I spoke earlier with a student who provided me with _this_ troubling account...”

He unfolded the paper, and read directly from it.

“ _... The interim dean explicitly encouraged me to sabotage the production’s dress rehearsal, citing consequences for the SDU e-sports team should I decide not to…”_

 _Yusaku,_ Kaiba cursed in his head. He should have known that the boy would go crying to Atem. He'd gone soft lately— a great shame, really.

“What do you have to gain from this, Director? You won’t even have a horse in this race come the end of the semester,” Kaiba closed the gap between himself and Atem with one long stride, towering over the latter by at least a head.

“Yugi will still be here,” Atem said. “As well as the rest of the faculty, and the students. I will _not_ let you tear down everything they’ve worked to build because of some misplaced grudge against me.”

Kaiba leaned back on his heels and crossed his arms. He stared intently at Atem, searching for cracks in in his resolve (and finding none).

“Seems we’re at an impasse, then. I can’t let you publicize  _that—_ ,” he jabbed at the paper in Atem’s hands. “— but your show can’t continue without my permission.”

Atem’s eyes suddenly changed. They were still narrowed and fierce, but with a mischievous edge. It looked out of place, yet right at home.

“How about a wager, then?” He suggested. “If you win, I’ll trash this and let you proceed however you see fit.”

He smiled. “But if _I_ win, you agree to give this production another chance. A _fair_ one.”

Kaiba was intrigued. His heart pumped excitedly against his ribs, no doubt spurred on by his undeniable competitive streak.

“What game?”

“Your choice.”

 _Checkmate,_ thought Kaiba.

“Do you know how to play Duel Monsters?”


	12. ACT 2: SCENE 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For what it's worth, I don't actually think that Kaiba's a big jerk

ACT 2: SCENE 3

\- TSUKOMO YUMA -

PRESENT DAY

 

Tsukomo Yuma had always been one to break from routine, which, for a few reasons, didn’t always fly in the world of the performing arts.

For one, the theatre often attracted a superstitious bunch. Certain rules passed from mentor to mentee became commonplace within the wings of the stage— things like “no whistling” or “the rule of three”. Good luck actually meant bad luck, and the mere mention of the Scottish play was enough to get you banned from backstage. Yuma followed these rules as best as he could— perhaps not to the ‘T’, but maybe to the ‘U’ or the ‘V’.

The night of The Accident started off as routine as any dress rehearsal night at South Den University could be. Props were set, lines were memorized, and legs were (metaphorically) broken. The cast and crew had performed their pre-show rituals and were churning through scenes for an empty auditorium— well, empty save for seats L20 and L21 (the very center of the house, or so the director insisted.)

The spots hit every dramatic queue. The scrim flooded with light at the exact correct moment. Yuma delivered his parting line before intermission so perfectly that even Atem himself couldn’t hold back a smile.

That is, until _it_ happened.

 

* * *

  
  
Tsukomo Yuma had always been one to break from routine, but on the night of The Accident, sitting smooshed in the back of Yusaku’s car as he wildly chased an ambulance to the hospital, he really, really wished he hadn’t.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he heard Judai’s voice say from somewhere next to him, but it was a bit pained and nasal, as if he was trying not to cry.

“It really wasn’t,” Yuya confirmed softly from the front seat. “But it may be time to retire the phrase ‘break your face’.”

Yuma replied with a sob, the stress and emotion of the night finally overwhelming him. He leaned into Judai, searching for comfort, but Judai had none to offer. Instead, he also allowed the tears that had been welling in his eyes to spill over.

“Why did it have to be _Yusei,_ ” Yuma pressed his face into Judai’s shoulder, staining his costume cloak with tears. “Why did _I_ have to say _that?_ College freaking _sucks.”_

 

* * *

 

The clock in the hospital waiting room was definitely broken. Yuma watched the minute hand tick only twice, even though according to the clock on his phone… shit, wait. Was time really moving _that_ slowly?

He sat cross-legged in the stiff plastic chair, watching people flit in and out of the clinic doors. He perked up every time a scrubs-clad doctor appeared, hoping for news, only to slip back down into his seat when they called for someone else.

The cast and crew had gone home several hours ago, after being told they wouldn’t _all_ be able to see Yusei. Yuma’s foursome opted to stay, however, setting up camp in the far corner of the sterile white room and promising to send updates as they came in.

“Should we go check on Judai?” After what had to be another hour (only fifteen minutes according to the gravity-warping clock), Yuma nudged a dozing Yuya, who shook his head.

“S’just calling Crow,” he mumbled, drawing his cape up to his neck as if it were a blanket. “He’ll be back.”

It wasn’t long before Yuya started snoring softly. On Yuma’s other side, Yusaku stared glumly at the game show broadcasting from the tiny television in the corner.

“Barbra Streisand,” he whispered the answer before the contestants could shout it out. He’d been doing it for a while now, and hadn’t missed a question yet.

“Thanks for driving us up here,” Yuma said when the show went to commercial. Yusaku jumped ever so slightly, as if he’d forgotten Yuma was there.

“It’s no problem,” he said, looking at the ground. “I… feel a little responsible.”

Yuma sighed. “So do I. Did you tell him to break his face, too?”

“No, I—,” Yusaku paused. “It’s a long story.”

“I have time,” Yuma offered. “If you want. No pressure if you don’t. My friend Kaito has a lot of bad days, but he told me that sometimes people need time to 'process' things, and like to do it alone..."

He didn’t know why he was still talking. Maybe it was because Yusaku made him the tiniest bit nervous, with his piercing green gaze and frosty demeanor. Or maybe it was because he’d once dreamed Yusaku was an evil robot that shot laser beams. In retrospect, that was sort of a rude thing to dream about.

“ … so yeah. I get it if you don’t want to talk. But I can listen if you do.”

“Paraguay,” Yusaku murmured, which confused Yuma until he heard it echoed by the game show.

“How are you so good at that?” Yuma asked.

“Lots of free time as a child,” Yusaku replied gravely, straightening his spine with a  _pop_. He was quite tall, his legs folded awkwardly underneath the stout chair. “Kaiba Seto is also the supervisor of the e-sports team.”

“Kaiba…?”

“The interim dean.”

 _Kaiba Seto._ Yuma felt a pang of disdain. It was obvious that Yusaku felt the same way, because his eyebrows scrunched together in a sort of full-face frown, as if he'd smelled something sour.

“I met with him yesterday. I thought, since we had a connection, I could talk him out of defunding the theatre,” he sighed. “Instead, I just made things worse. The War of 1812.”

“Made things worse?” Yuma quipped back, glancing at the television to check Yusaku’s answer (it was right).

“Yeah. He told me he wouldn't fund the e-sports team unless he  _de_ funded the theatre department, and I believed him.”

“He had to be lying through his teeth,” Yuma felt angry, especially now that there was a name to feel angry towards. “There's no way he has the authority to do that. This Kaiba guy sounds like a big jerk.”

“He is,” Yusaku agreed quietly. “He told me to sabotage the show tonight. So the e-sports team wouldn’t get shut down.”

He grimaced. “I didn’t do it.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, Yusaku letting several game show questions go by unanswered. On Yuma’s other side, Yuya adjusted under his cape, his snores stuttering. Yuma wondered how his roommate managed to sleep through the ruckus.

“Yuma,” came Yusaku’s voice. “Can you… keep this between us? I don’t want people thinking I—”

“You’ve got it,” Yuma reassured him with a thumbs up, earning himself a very rare smile. Yusaku was nice to talk to, if you could get past his prickly exterior.

The doors of the waiting room opened a few moments later, and in walked Judai, looking frazzled. At his side was someone Yuma didn’t recognize. His flannel pajama pants were shoved into his boots, and he had a black and yellow helmet tucked under one arm. He looked a little bit like he rolled out of bed and fell directly onto a motorcycle. Yuma realized with a jolt that that's probably exactly what happened.

“Alright, chumps,” the stranger beelined from the door to Yuma and company, a scowl on his face. “Who’s ass am I kicking?”

Yusaku jumped up, standing between Yuma and the stranger, all the softness gone from him in an instant. Yuya jolted awake with a comedic  _whuzzah?_

“Crow!” He whined. “What the hell, man?”

“Don’t _what the hell, man_ me, Sakaki,” Crow snapped. “You guys are trying to tell me that Yusei _accidentally_ fell? And broke it with his _face_? Yeah, right!”

He laughed, and the harsh sound reverberated in the small space. The receptionist at the front desk peered curiously in their direction. His hand hovered over the phone keypad, as if to call security.

“Crow, please, you’ll get us kicked out,” Judai hissed as he trailed behind him. “Just listen for like _two seconds_ and I’ll explain.”

Crow opened his mouth as if to retort, but thought better of it. He plopped unceremoniously into the seat next to Yuya.

“Two seconds,” he muttered. “But I’m not promising _anything_.”

 

* * *

 

Two seconds turned into twenty minutes, but Crow’s shoulders finally relaxed from underneath his ears. He let the helmet that he’d been clutching like a weapon drop to the ground with a _thunk,_ which made everyone breathe a little easier.

Yuma’s head was swimming with new information. Apparently, Yusei had had slipped and fallen in the pulley room during intermission. His fall broke the safety lock on the grand curtain pulley, which caused the galvanized metal rope to slash him across the face. Then he passed out, either from pain or from the shock, and Judai thought he may have died.

Oh why was Judai in the in the pulley room to begin with, you may ask? _Because he and Yusei were making out._

“So… you guys are together?” Yuma asked, gesturing as such with his index fingers. “Like, _together_ together?”

Judai nodded, a faraway look on his face, as did the rest of his friends. Yuma slunk down in his seat.

“Nobody told _me_ ,” he tried not to sound disappointed, but it almost felt as if he’d been purposefully left out of the loop.

“We didn’t tell many people,” Judai continued. His voice was rough, as if he'd been crying again, which made Yuma feel even worse. “Crow lives with Yusei, so he obviously knew. I told Yuya a long time ago, and…”

He glanced tentatively in Yusaku’s direction. “Actually, I’m not sure I ever told you. But you know everything, so I'm not surprised.”

Yusaku snorted under his breath, which in turn made Judai crack the tiniest of smiles. The atmosphere lightened ever so slightly, as if the sun had peered out after days of dark clouds.

It didn’t last long, however, the clouds returning along with the telltale creak of the clinic door.

“Anyone here for a Fudo Yusei?” The doctor called, blanching when five eager bodies rushed up to her.

 

* * *

 

 _I will not cry,_ Yuma chanted to himself as they stepped into the eerily quiet room. _I need to stay strong for Judai. I will not cry._

His breath caught in his throat anyways at the sight of Yusei lying in the hospital bed. The left side of his face was obscured by a thick bandage, the faintest hint of purple and blue visible around its edges. His eyes were scrunched shut, and he fidgeted in place, as if he were having a bad dream.

“Jeez,” Judai whimpered, his face suddenly bloodless. He stood by the bedside with his hands hovering in the air, as if he wanted to reach out and touch Yusei but was too afraid to do so.

“He’s got thirty-one stitches, starting right underneath his left eye,” the doctor explained, following them in and closing the door gently. “It’s a wonder he still has that eye, actually.”

“Hear that, buddy?” Crow chuckled, his rough edges immediately smoothed at the sight of his friend. “You coulda gone down in history as 'One-Eyed Yusei'.”

The doctor told them Yusei would be discharged as soon as he woke up, but that it could take up to an hour for that to happen. Judai insisted on staying at the hospital until then, and by default so did Yusaku.

"Which means one of you will have to leave with Crow,” Yusaku said, turning to Yuya and Yuma. “I’ll need a space in the back seat for Yusei.”

“Not me!” Yuya exclaimed. He clapped a hand over his mouth, glancing anxiously at nurse glowering at him from the corner. “I mean, I can’t. I’m… afraid of motorcycles.”

Crow cocked an eyebrow. “What about that one time—”

“That one time is _why_ I’m afraid of motorcycles,” Yuya glared at Crow, who could only smile sheepishly.

Yuma didn’t want to leave, but he got the feeling he wouldn’t win the battle to stay. And so, after a slightly teary goodbye, he followed Crow out into the parking lot. His bike was just outside the front doors, glittering black and yellow in the light of the moon. It had a tiny wing painted on either side of its body.

“Alright kiddo, here’s the scoop,” Crow slapped the heavy motorcycle helmet into Yuma’s hands. “Put this on and hold on tight. Oh, and if you’ve gotta hurl, try to do it over the side of the bike, 'mmkay?”


	13. ACT 2: SCENE 4

ACT 2: SCENE 4

\- FUDO YUSEI -

PRESENT DAY

 

Yusei slept, and while he slept, he dreamed.

He dreamed of arcing lights and city streets set ablaze, of a sky so copper that he could taste the tang of bitter metal in his mouth. He dreamed of smooth skin and half-shut eyes, and a pair of lips pressing a soft kiss right between his eyes before dissipating in a puff of sweet-smelling smoke.

He fell out of the sky and dropped onto his bike. Summer wind whipped against his bare face, bringing with it the smell of charcoal and sunscreen. As he pressed himself flat against the body of the bike and twisted the throttle, phantom hands seemed to clutch at his back.

They belonged to Crow, reluctantly riding passenger after that wreck he’d had down by the river. Then they were Aki's, on the way to the surprise party they’d thrown to celebrate her acceptance into medical school. On one miserable occasion, they were Jack’s hands, accompanied by hisses of disdain.

Yusei continued forward, further into the future. As he did, he felt a new sensation grip at the hem of his shirt— one that traveled through the soft threads and infused itself into his veins.

_Judai._

 

* * *

 

Swirling lights shifted the dreamscape, tearing Yusei away and depositing him with a _whump_ onto the stage in the auditorium. His gloved hands shook, laden with scripts still hot from the printer.

“Yuki Judai,” the last name on the cast list was a breath of fresh outside air— not unlike the face of it's owner.

“Nice to meet you,” the freshman's voice was effortlessly warm. He accepted the final script, his hair falling into eyes that were full of light.

Something gripped Yusei’s heart in that moment— something he hadn’t felt for a long time. For just a moment, he forgot he was standing in front of everyone, he forgot the grumbles of disdain from the cast, he forgot that Jack was sending him absolute daggers from the front row.

For just a moment, he felt himself smile.

 

* * *

 

Again, the colors and sounds and smells spiraled around him, and Yusei was once again on his bike— this time, on a snow-dusted road. Judai sat behind him, chest pressed against his back. The warmth dispelled any semblance of cold, despite the snowflakes gathering on Yusei's shoulders.

They raced through the streets, flickering in and out of pools of street lamp light, until—

_SKKKKKRIT._

A reckless car forced the bike to skitter to a stop in a flurry of snow and slush. Yusei cursed under his breath.

“You still back there?” He peeked over his shoulder, and the air left his lungs as he was met with the steely gaze of one Jack Atlas.

“Yusei, you’re overreacting,” he growled, tightening his arms around Yusei’s waist. What once had been a comforting glow now felt like a sheet of white ice pressed against his bare skin.

Yusei revved the bike, shooting forward, as if the speed could force Jack away from him. Traffic and street lamps and snowflakes blew by in blurs of color and light. The needle on the speedometer snapped in two as Yusei twisted desperately at the accelerator— racing out of the familiar neighborhood, out Jack’s grasp, out of the twisted vignette his brain had placed him in.

“Fine, whatever!” Jack’s hands finally slipped away, his voice shouting over the whir of the spinning world.  “This is over! But only because _I_ said it’s over!”

His words sucked the noise out of the universe, as if someone had pressed the mute button on a television remote. Yusei’s bike stopped suddenly, the engine dying with a final snarl. His tires left wide black streaks on the asphalt, and yet, they made not a sound.

Yusei looked over his shoulder, only to see the world crumbling. The buildings he had weaved through melted into the black sky, the road where he had stood moments before fell away. The street lights winked out one by one before dissipating into wisps of floating dust. 

There was little light left to see by. Yusei looked forward, squinting into the great maw that threatened to swallow him whole. In it's depths were clusters of colored light— blue, green, red. They called out to him in a language he didn't quite understand.

He wanted to cry, but couldn’t— his throat had closed entirely.

It was probably for the best, anyways.

 

* * *

 

Yusei woke with a start to only half of a world. He lifted a heavy arm, ignoring the aching pull of whatever tube had been inserted into it. His fingers drifted instinctively to his face, where they were greeted by a piece of thick gauze stretched over his left cheek. This skin around his eye was swollen and sore and hot to the touch.

Memories of the night before trickled back to him like water dripping from a leaky faucet— moments of happiness, flashes of panic, pain… a _lot_ of pain. A glimpse of Judai’s horrified face as he tumbled away in slow-motion.

Yusei glanced around the small room, the vision in his good eye still a little blurry. It was deathly quiet, save for the eerie beeping of the machine attached to him. Well, _that_ , and the sound of heavy, even breathing coming from a heap of jackets in the lone chair.

“Ju—,” Yusei tried to speak, but the name faltered in his dry mouth. The heap shifted regardless, and from its depths emerged a shock of tousled blue hair. Yusaku looked more disheveled than Yusei had ever seen, with his wrinkled t-shirt and puffy face.

“Yusei,” he sat up, a note of relief coloring his voice. “H-how are you feeling?”

“I’m— _ah,_ ” Yusei moaned as a flash of pain seared through his head. “Am I… _blind?”_

Yusaku smiled in his sad, enigmatic way. He shifted the jackets (plus two capes) to the floor and stood, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it.

“Your eye is fine. It’s, um, your face,” he explained poorly. “Give me a sec and I’ll go grab the others from the cafeteria.”

He tiptoed out of the room and into the vague light of the hallway. Yusei nestled his head back into the plush pillow, the short conversation having already fatigued him. More moments from the previous night swam behind his eyes— fixing the hopeless knot in Yuma’s cape, sharing high-fives with his crew after executing the first half of the show flawlessly. His recollection of events came to a sudden stop once they reached the pulley closet, as if someone had taped over his memories with footage of a blank screen.

It didn’t take Yusaku long to return with familiar faces in tow. Yuya’s arms were laden with snacks, leaving Judai free to twist his together nervously.

“Hey, Judai,” Yusei all but croaked. Although he longed to jump up, to pry Judai's hands apart and hold them in his own, pain kept him where he was. It didn’t matter though, because at the sound of his name, Judai vaulted across the room, tears welling in his eyes.

“You remember who I am!” He cried, throwing himself over Yusei’s lap and letting out a great, shuddering sob.

“Why wouldn’t I…?” Yusei exchanged a confused glance with Yusaku, who could only offer him a shoulder shrug in response.

 

* * *

 

They filled Yusei in as the sun’s rays began to peak their way through the hospital windows. Judai perched unnaturally still on the foot of the bed, his eyes trained on some imaginary, faraway thing.

“So what happens now?” Yusei still felt foggy on the finer details, but one thing was crystal clear in his mind— he _refused_ to be the reason why the department got shut down.

The others looked among themselves. Somewhere down the hall, a monitor beeped frantically.

“Nobody really knows,” Judai finally managed, his tone sullen. “I think Atem was gonna _try_ to convince the interim dean to give us another chance, but…”

He drew his legs up to his chest, his head dropping onto his knees. “This is all my fault.”

“No s’not,” Yuya crunched through a mouthful of cheese puffs. “It’s the stupid interim dean’s fault. Nobody’s _forcing_ him to do any of this.”

“It’s like he has some personal vendetta against the theatre. Or Atem,” Yusaku added, leaning over Yuya and swiping a puff from the bag.

Judai grimaced, and Yusei knew immediately that their friend’s words were falling on deaf ears.

“None of this is your fault, Judai,” he forced himself to sit up, despite the way his muscles protested, so that he could place a gentle hand on Judai’s shoulder.

“Yes it is,” he mumbled back. “I ruined the show. I ruined your… your _face_.”

“Better mine than yours,” Yusei mused. “You were always the better looking one, anyways.”

Yuya made a fake gagging sound, only to receive a hard prod from Yusaku. Judai lifted his head to peer at Yusei. 

“That’s a lie,” he cracked the tiniest of smiles. “It does… sort of suit you, though.”

He reached out, and with a ghostly touch traced the line of gauze and stitches on Yusei's cheek.

“You should tell people you got it in prison, or something,” Yuya chirped. “Sounds _much_ cooler than what actually happened. No offense."


	14. ACT 2: SCENE 5

ACT 2: SCENE 5

\- TSUKOMO YUMA -

PRESENT DAY

 

 

> **_(from: atem@sdu.edu_ ** **_)_ **
> 
> **Dress Rehearsal Updates**
> 
>  
> 
> **Team:**
> 
> **Thank you all for your maturity last night. I have several pieces of good news to pass along:**
> 
>   * ****Yusei is awake and recovering. He was discharged this morning and is continuing to rest at home.****
> 

>   * **After some discussion, the interim dean has agreed to attend our make-up dress rehearsal** **tomorrow night** **. We should all greatly appreciate his understanding and flexibility.**
> 

> 
> **Call will be at 4:00, with the show staring at 7:00. Should you need to be excused from other classes/activities, please contact Yugi or myself directly.**
> 
> **Let us not waste the fortune we’ve been granted.**
> 
>  
> 
> **Atem**

 

Yuma finished reading the email out loud, punctuating it with a wide yawn. It was  _way_ too early in the morning for such heavy material.

“ _‘Understanding and flexibility’_ my left nut,” Yuya spat at his side, his dark circles mirrored by a darker frown. He pulled Yuma's comforter up over his head, the only evidence of his presence being a tuft of his bright hair.

He'd shown up at Yuma's dormitory door a while ago, still wearing his crumpled costume.

“Yusaku has a final at 09:00,” he had moaned, the bags under his eyes dragging his whole face downward. “He didn’t have time to drive me home. Can I take a nap here?”

Yuma, only half awake, obliged, and the two of them crawled back into his bed until the pinging of email notifications woke them.

“That’s Atem for ya,” Yuma said, closing his email and pulling up his chemistry study guide for the thousandth time. “I’ve never seen him get mad. I’m not even sure he physically _can._ ”

“Yeah, me either,” Yuya said, voice muffled. “D'ya think he's ever said 'fuck'?”

“Probably once or twice,” Yuma grinned. "Think he's ever  _punched_ someone?"

"Oh, _definitely_."

Yuma’s vision of Atem standing over a bloodied interim dean was dissipated by his phone buzzing once again in his hand. Two notifications arrived at the same time. One was an alarm he set for himself, reminding him of his upcoming final. The second was an email from Yugi.

 

 

> **_(from: moto yugi@sdu.edu)_ **
> 
> **The Situation**
> 
>  
> 
> **Are you all available to meet briefly in the auditorium tonight? Let’s say around 7:00pm. I will buy pizza.**
> 
>  
> 
> **~Yugi**

 

The message was only sent to a few recipients— Yuma, Yuya, Judai, Yusaku.

“What now?” Yuya asked from his blanketed prison. “Did the auditorium get hit by a meteor? Do I get free tuition if it does?”

 

* * *

 

The stress was palpable in the air of the auditorium, as was the smell of pizza. Yuma was the last to arrive, traipsing in after bravely battling with his chemistry final for two hours. It had gone… well, he made it through, at least. He was _more_ upset about the fact that he had to settle for a slice of Canadian bacon and pineapple.

Yugi paced back and forth in front of the four of them, his hands clasping and unclasping. Yuma imagined a rut forming in the worn planks under his feet. 

“So,” Yugi's voice was pinched. “I’m sure you all saw Atem’s email. Yusei is _probably_ —,” he glanced at Judai’s worried face, “—er,  _definitely_ out for at least tomorrow’s show. Which leaves us short backstage."

“I have friends,” Yuya offered, working through his fifth piece of pizza. “Yuzu’s _real_ good at doing complicated stuff— you should see her put on her makeup.”

“I don’t think this is a job that we can just unload onto anybody,” Yugi’s said delicately. “You saw what happened to Yusei when— well, anyways. We need somebody with some technical skill. Somebody good with their hands...”

“How about Yusei’s roommate?” Yuma racked his brain. “He built a motorcycle right? He could _probably_ handle the pulleys.”

“Absolutely not,” Yuya stopped chewing so quickly it was almost comical. “Unless you want this place to burn down.”

“Crow’s staying with Yusei tomorrow, anyways,” Judai added. The auditorium went silent, save for the rustling of pizza boxes.

“I… have an idea,” Yusaku was the one to finally speak up, and every head in the house swiveled to look at him. “But they’re not gonna like it.”

 

* * *

 

Everyone video chatted Yusei from Judai’s phone while Yusaku (presumably) called in favors.

“Seriously, Yugi, I can make it tomorrow if you need me,” the color had returned to Yusei’s face, but his eye was still swollen shut and mottled purple. Most of the gauze had been peeled away, leaving a thin line of bandages behind.

“Absolutely not,” Yugi said sternly— and he actually sounded it, for once. “Don’t worry, we've got the help we need.”

“We miss you, though,” Yuma piped, straining to fit his face into the phone's tiny window.

“Lots,” Judai added. And it was true— Yusei's calm, confident aura was sorely missed at this point in a production. Every task seemed a little more difficult when he wasn't around.

They chatted a little more about this and that, before a voice on Yusei’s end— Crow, presumably— yelled _“go back to sleep!”_.

The call clicked off at the same time as Yusaku’s.

“Okay, I found coverage,” he said, and his words were met with a chorus of relieved sighs. “Just… cross your fingers.”

 

* * *

 

Yusaku’s coverage arrived promptly at call the next day in the form of two seniors that Yuma didn't recognize. They were both tall, with light hair and intense eyes, but that’s about where their similarities ended. They chatted with Aoi, a third senior who always greeted Yuma with a kind smile, while Yusaku herded the company together on the stage.

“This is Takeru and Ryoken,” Yusaku introduced them, pointing to each. Takeru waved. Ryoken deadpanned. “They're on the e-sports team with Aoi and I, and they'll be— ah, _filling in_ for Yusei tonight.”

A nervous buzz spread through the cast, and doubly so through the crew. Words like _disaster_ and _bad idea_ were murmured, and Yuma felt his heart sink.

“Can they _really_ operate the pulleys?” One of Yusei’s black-clad stagehands spoke up, his voice reproachful.

“Is that a challenge?” A fire seemed to spark to life in Takeru’s eyes as he took a step forward. Ryoken barred him with an arm and hissed _“Takeru, please”_ while Yusaku loosed a long-suffering sigh.

“I went through the basics with them last night, and they both have engineering backgrounds. It should be good enough to get us through tonight,” he explained.

“Good enough to get us through tonight?” Someone else repeated. “Or good enough to keep the department from getting _sacked?_ ”

“Yeah, at this point, why are we even _trying_ to make this happen?”

“I wanna go home, I haven’t slept in days!”

Agreement rose like smoke among some of company, their disgruntled voices growing louder by the second. Yusaku's mouth moved as if to say something, but no sound came out. The last dregs of color drained from his face— he was freaking out.

Yuma _had_ to do something. He couldn't watch the people who adopted him as one of their own collapse in on each other. He forced himself up, willed his hands to stop shaking.

“H-hey guys!” Scathing eyes turned to face him, a hundred knocked arrows ready to fly. "I think we need to give Yusaku’s friends a chance. It’s what Yusei would want!”

“He’s right,” as if on queue, Judai emerged from the dark curtains, stony-faced. “Frankly, I think Yusei’d be pretty disappointed if he knew how we were acting."

Absolute silenced blanketed over the company, like a layer of undisturbed snow. Disappointing Yusei was a terrible— no, _unforgivable_ — crime within the walls of the theatre.

Judai glanced around the gathered company once more, an uncharacteristic intensity in his gaze. Then, as quickly as he had appeared, he stalked back into the curtains, a whir of cape and dark makeup. After a few more shell-shocked moments, the cast and crew slowly dispersed, no doubt whispering about what had gotten into Judai. Takeru and Ryoken were led away by Yusaku, who was still ghastly white in the face.

Yuma sighed in broken relief, his shoulders loosening.

He hoped Yusei would return soon.

 

* * *

 

The next few hours slipped through Yuma’s fingers like fine sand. In the blink of an eye, he was right back where he was just two nights ago, fiddling nervously with his cape as the overture started up. The knot around his neck wasn’t nearly as tidy as it had been— but the same could be said about a majority of the cast. Costumes were a little wrinkled, motions were a little less snappy. They were _tired,_ both physically and mentally.

“It’s Yuma, right?” an unfamiliar voice startled him, and the knot slipped loose.

“Sorry,” the voice whispered again, its owner— Yusaku's friend, Takeru— coming into view. “You need some help with that?"

He gestured to the crumpled fabric. Yuma blinked, but nodded, offering the ends. Takeru knotted them together with a deftness that only strengthened Yuma's feeling of déjà vu.

"Thanks," he said, once the knot was tidy and flat once again.

"No, thank _you_ ," Takeru replied. _"_ For earlier."

“Don’t mention it. I think everyone was just a little… on edge?”

“Yeah, I get that," Takeru flashed him a grin. "I'm nervous, too. But that’s what makes it fun.”

The overture began, and he flitted away to rejoin Yusaku's other friend. Ryoken was standing in Yusei's usual spot, watching the pulley box with unblinking focus, as if it might grow legs and walk away.

Yuma found himself alone again. He spared a peek around the curtain, immediately spotting the interim dean in seat L21. He sat stiffly, a black turtleneck pulled up to his chin (Was it the same one? Or did he have _multiple_ black turtlenecks?). Next to him was a new face— a boy with shaggy hair and a wide grin. He sat cross-legged in the seat directly next to the interim dean, wide eyes trained on the closed curtain.

“You think he’s babysitting?” Yuya suddenly appeared next to Yuma. “I can’t imagine anyone would ever wanna fu—”

The orchestra struck its last chord, and Yuya’s words were lost. Instead, he gave Yuma an encouraging nod as the latter stepped into the light.

 

* * *

 

Intermission arrived quickly, to the great relief of the rattled company. The triumphant high-fives from the first dress rehearsal were long gone, replaced instead with consoling hugs and hushed tones. Yugi did his best to reassure the cast as they filed solemnly off the stage, but the stakes were high, and even _his_ voice cracked and faltered once or twice.

In the far corner of the hallway behind the stage, Yuma sat with Judai in silence. The latter stared unblinkingly at the cinder block wall, legs drawn into his chest, chin on his knees— a concentrated ball of sadness.

Yuma wanted to offer him some comfort, but nothing felt quite right. He couldn't hardly say  _'everything's okay'_ when everything was so obviously  _not_ okay.

"I wish this was still fun," Judai's sighed, his voice muffled. Yuma scuffed at the ground with the toe of his boot, trying to put his words into thoughts.

"It'll be fun again," he finally decided on, although it sounded significantly more lame out loud than it had in his head.

Judai offered a sort of half-hearted grunt as a response, which Yuma took as a sign to stop talking. He let his head fall back against the cool stone wall, steeling himself for the rest of the night. The first act hadn't gone  _poorly_ , per se— a dropped line here, a missed lighting queue there. However, with things the way they were, every mistake felt like a step closer to the edge of a cliff.

 

The sound of heavy footsteps from right inside the stage door next to Yuma foretold it swinging open, revealing an out-of-breath (but smiling) Yuya.

“Hey,” he whisper-shouted (a feat that only Yuya could accomplish). “There’s something you gotta see out here.”

“Not now, Yuya,” Judai groaned into his arms. “I’m having an existential crisis.”

“Didn’t you have one of those, like, a couple nights ago?” Yuya asked. “Just trust me. It’ll be worth it.”

 

* * *

 

The two figures that sat in the very last row of the auditorium were barely visible, shrouded in the darkness of the dim house lights. Even so, Yuma recognized them, and by the way Judai's breath hitched in his throat, he did, too.

“Yusei,” he murmured, and the light returned to his eyes.


	15. A BRIEF INTERLUDE

A BRIEF INTERLUDE

- KAIBA SETO -

PRESENT DAY

 

Kaiba knew he was surely doomed.

Atem's cast of characters seemed to burst into color after intermission— new life in their words, new music in their steps. Mokuba's eyes shone with wonder as the great castle construct was taken apart and put back together in mere seconds, as the boy in the light-colored cloak bantered with the one in the dark. 

On Kaiba's other side, Atem himself said not a word. Instead he sat in rapt attention, the faintest ghost of a triumphant smile touching his lips.

Kaiba knew he should have been enraged. No— he shouldn't have even let it get to this point. He should have stood up at intermission, given his carefully prepared speech about safety concerns and really,  _truly_ apologize but he just _couldn't_  in good conscience green light the production. He should have taken Mokuba by the arm and led him out of the auditorium without a second glance, before Atem could even open his mouth. 

But he didn't, and now Mokuba's eyes were the size of platters, and he sat perched on the edge of his seat with his hands balled tightly in his lap.

Kaiba knew he was surely doomed, but this time, it was okay.

He'd do anything to see Mokuba smile. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapters incoming! It's been a fun ride, thanks for sticking with me :)


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